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2    ^V\ 


THE  COxNFESSIONS 


OF 


J.   J.   ROUSSEAU 


Icriob  ^ctonb. 


NEW  YORK: 
PUBLISHED  BY  CALVIN  BLANCHARD, 

IB    NASSAU  STREET. 

1858. 


489  5        S3367 


.t.  O  ki  U  ■u' 


L.  Hacskr,  Stereot«-eb  &  Pkinter,  20  Nourn  Wh-uam  Street. 


ROUSSEAU'S  CONFESSIONS. 

PERIOD    SECOND. 

BOOK  VII. 

1741. 

After  two  years  silence  and  patience,  I  again,  notwith- 
standing the  resolutions  I  had  formed,  resume  my  pen. 
Reader,  suspend  your  judgment  as  to  the  reasons  that  com- 
pel me  to  this  course  :  of  these  you  can  be  no  judge  till 
after  having  read  me. 

My  placid  youth  has  been  seen  gliding  by  in  a  tranquil 
and  rather  agreeable  sort  of  life,  unmarked  by  anything  re- 
markable either  in  the  way  of  prosperity  or  adversity.  This 
was  in  the  main  owing  to  my  timorous  and  feeble,  though 
ardent  nature,  my  inclination  to  activity  being  o'ertopped 
by  my  proueness  to  grow  discouraged.  I  would,  at  times, 
start  up  by  sudden  fits  from  my  quiet  ways,  but  always  came 
back  again  thereto  from  lassitude,  from  inclination  ;  and  so, 
my  temperament,  circumscribing  me  to  the  calm  and  in- 
dolent life  wherein  I  reveled  and  whereto  I  felt  born,  far 
removed  from  great  virtues  and  still  farther  from  great 
vices,  had  never  permitted  me  to  advance  to  aught  great 
either  in  the  way  of  good  or  evil. 

How  different  a  picture  shall  I  ere  long  have  to  draw  1 
Fate,  which  for  thirty  years  favored  my  inclinations,  has, 
for  an  equal  period,  run  counter  thereto;  and  from  this  con- 
tinual antagonism  between  what  I  was  and  what  I  wished 
to  be,  will  be  seen  to  result  enormous  mistakes,  unheard  of 
misfortunes  and  every  virtue,  saving  fortitude,  that  can  do 
honor  to  adversity. 


\ 


4  ROUSSEAU  S  CONFESSIONS. 

Part  First  of  ray  Confessions  was  written  wholly  from 
memory,  and  must  of  course  contain  a  good  many  errors. 
Obliged,  as  I  am,  to  write  the  Second  from  memory  also,  I 
shall,  in  all  likelihood,  make  a  good  many  more.  The  pleas- 
ing reminiscences  of  my  happy  years,  years  passed  'mid  equal 
tranquillity  and  innocence,  have  left  on  my  memory  a  tliou- 
sand  charming  impressions  I  love  incessantly  to  call  to  mind 
How  different  are  those  of  the  rest  of  my  life  will  presently 
appear.  To  recall  them  is  but  to  renew  the  bitterness  there- 
of. Far  from  embittering  my  already  too  sad  situation  by 
such  sorrowful  reflections,  I  do  my  utmost  to  repel  them  ; 
and  I  am  at  times  so  successful  in  this  endeavor  as  to  be 
unal)le  to  recall  them  when  I  wish  to.  This  facility  in  for- 
getting my  misfortunes  is  a  kind  nepenthe  heaven  has  granted 
me  against  the  accumulated  woes  fated  to  fall  on  my  doomed 
head.  Memory,  bringing  up  none  but  agreeable  images, 
is  the  happy  counterpoise  to  my  wild  and  morbid  imagina- 
tion, ever  casting  before  it  the  shadows  of  a  dark  and  dire- 
ful future. 

The  various  papers  I  had  collected  to  aid  ray  recollec- 
tion and  guide  me  in  this  my  undertaking  have  all  passed 
into  other  hands,  nor  can  I  ever  again  hope  to  obtain  pos- 
session of  them.  I  have  but  one  fiiithful  guide  whereon  to 
rely — the  sequence  of  the  sentiments  that  have  marked  the 
current  of  my  life,  and,  thereby,  faithfully  chronicled  the 
succession  of  events  that  either  caused  these  emotions  or 
flowed  therefrom.  I  easily  forget  my  misfortunes,  but  not 
so  my  faults,  and  still  less  can  I  forget  any  virtuous  senti- 
ment I  have  experienced.  Too  dear  to  my  heart  is  their 
memory  for  them  ever  to  be  efl'aced.  I  may  omit  facts, 
transpose  events  and  fall  into  errors  touching  dates;  but  I 
cannot  possibly  be  mistaken  as  to  what  I  have  felt,  nor  yet 
as  to  what  my  feelings  have  led  me  to  do.  And,  indeed, 
this  is  the  main  matter.  The  prime  and  proper  object  of 
my  Confessions  is  unreservedly  to  lay  bare  my  heart  in  every 
situation  in  which  I  have  been  placed.  'Tis  the  history  of 
my. soul  I  have  promised:  to  write  it  faithfully  I  need  no 
other  memorials — 't  will  suffice,  as  I  have  hitherto  done,  to 
retire  within  myself. 

Happily,  however,  there  is  a  period  of  si.x  or  seven  years 
relative  to  which  I  possess  definite  and  reliable  materials  in 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VII.        1741.  5 

a  transcribed  collection  of  letters,  the  originals  of  which 
are  in  the  hands  of  M.  Du  Peyrou.  This  collection,  which 
>reaks  off  in  1760,  comprehends  the  entire  period  of  my  re- 
deuce  at  the  Hermitage  and  ray  famous  emljroilment  with 
my  would-be  friends — a  memorable  epoch  in  my  life,  and 
the  fountain-head  of  all  my  subsequent  misfortunes.  As  to 
any  more  recent  original  letters  that  may  remain  in  my  pos- 
session, and  which  are  exceeding  few  in  number,  instead  of 
copying  them  into  the  before-mentioned  collection,  already 
too  bulky  for  me  to  hope  that  it  will  escape  the  lynx-eyed 
Arguses  that  have  me  under  surveillance,  I  will  transfer 
them  to  this  present  work,  whenever  they  may  appear  to  me 
to  furnish  any  light,  be  it  for  or  be  it  against  me:  for  I  am 
under  no  apprehension  that  the  reader  will  ever  forget  that 
I  am  inditing  my  Confessions,  and  think  I  am  writing  an 
apology  for  myself;  but  neither  ought  he  to  expect  me-  to 
suppress  the  truth,  when  it  happens  to  speak  in  my  favor. 

Howbeit,  this  Second  Part  contains  naught,  saving  the 
quality  of  truthfulness,  in  common  with  the  First,  nor  has 
it  any  other  advantage  over  it  but  the  importance  of  the 
facts.  This  excepted,  it  cannot  but  be  in  every  respect  in- 
ferior to  the  former.  I  WTote  the  First  with  pleasure  and 
satisfaction,  at  my  ease,  at  Wooton  or  in  the  Chateau  de 
Trye,, where  every  remembrance  I  had  occasion  to  call  up 
became  a  new  enjoyment.  I  constantly  came  back  to  my 
task  with  fresh  pleasure  and  was  free  to  turn  my  descrip- 
tions till  I  got  them  to  my  satisfaction.  At  present,  how- 
ever, my  weakened  memory  and  toil-worn  brain  all  but  in- 
capacitate me  for  any  labor  whatever.  The  work  on  which 
I  am  at  present  engaged  I  pursue  only  per  force,  and  with 
a  heart  wrung  with  grief.  It  offers  only  misfortunes,  treach- 
eries, perfidies  and  saddening,  heart-rending  recollections. 
Would  God  I  could  bury  what  I  have  to  tell  deep  in  the 
dark  night  of  time  !  But  no  ;  forced  to  speak  in  spite  of 
myself,  I  am  furthermore  reduced  to  skulk  and  dodge  and 
attempt  im[)Osition  and  demean  myself  to  things  the  most 
repugnant  to  my  nature.  The  roof  above  me  has  eyes  ;  the 
walls  that  hem  me  in  have  ears.  Environed  by  spies  and 
vigilant  and  malevolent  surveillants,  my  attention  disturbed 
and  drawn  off,  I  hastily  commit  to  paper  a  few  broken 
sentences,  which  I  have  scarce  time  to  glance  over,  far  less 


6  RODSSEAUS  CONFESSIONS. 

to  correct.  I  am  aware  that,  notwithstanding:  the  iaimensf? 
barriers  that  are  incessantly  piled  around  me,  there  is  con- 
stant dread  least  the  truth  should  get  out  through  son" 
opening  or  other.  How  shall  I  make  it  pierce  througu 
every  obstacle  ?  And  yet  this  is  what  I  am  attempting, 
though  with  but  small  hope  of  success.  Judge,  then,  if 
this  be  the  stuff  out  of  which  to  make  handsome  pictures  or 
attractive  coloring.  And  so  I  warn  any  one  that  is  dis- 
posed to  begin  the  perusal-of  this  work  that  nothing  can 
possibly  secure  him  from  tedium  in  the  prosecution  of  his 
task,  unless  it  be  a  sincere  love  of  truth  and  justice,  and 
the  desire  of  becoming  more  fully  acquainted  with  a  man  he 
already  in  part  knows. 

I  brought  down  my  narrative,  in  Part  First,  to  my  sor- 
rowful departure  for  Paris,  leavinj^  my  heart  at  Les  Char- 
mettes,  building  my  last  castle  in  the  air,  calculating  on 
one  day  bringing  back  to  Matnan,  to Maman  again  restored 
to  herself,  the  treasures  I  was  going  to  acquire,  and  count- 
ing on  my  system  of  music  as  on  a  certain  fortune. 

I  made  some  stay  at  Lyons  with  a  view  to  visiting  my 
acquaintances,  procuring  letters  of  recommendation  to  Paris 
and  selling  my  works  on  Geometry,  which  I  had  brought 
along  with  me.  I  met  with  a  universal  welcome.  M.  and 
Mme.  de  Mably  seemed  pleased  to  see  me  and  invited  me 
several  times  to  dinner.  At  their  house  I  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  the  Abbe  de  Mably,  as  I  had  already  that  of 
the  Abbe  de  Condillac,  both  of  whom  were  on  a  visit  to 
their  brother.  The  Abbe  de  Mably  gave  me  several  letters 
to  persons  in  Paris,  among  others  one  to  M.  de  Fontenelle 
and  another  to  the  Count  de  Caylus.  They  both  proved 
very  agreeable  acquaintances,  especially  the  first,  whose 
friendship  for  me  ceased  only  with  life  and  from  whom  I 
received,  in  our  private  intercourse,  advice  I  ought  to  have 
better  heeded. 

I  again  met  M.  Bordes  whom  I  had  long  known  and 
who  had  often  obliged  me  with  the  utmost  cordiality  and 
the  most  genuine  pleasure.  I  found  him,  on  this  occasion, 
the  same  as  ever.  He  it  was  who  enabled  me  to  dispose  of 
my  books,  and  he  gave  me  himself  or  was  the  means  of  pro- 
curing me  some  excellent  recommendations  to  Paris.  I 
again  saw  his  Honor  the  lateudaut,  for  whose  acquaintance 


I 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  VII      1741.  1 

I  was  indebted  to  M.  Bordes,  and  who  introduced  me  to 
the  Duke  de  Richelieu,  then  passing  through  Lyons.  M. 
Palhi  presented  me.  M.  de  Richeheu  received  me  kindly, 
and  invited  me  to  come  and  see  him  at  Paris.  This  I  did 
several  times,  though  I  never  derived  the  slightest  advan- 
tage from  this  lofty  acquaintance,  whereof  I  shall,  in  the 
sequel,  have  frequent  occasion  to  make  mention. 

I  again  saw  David  the  musician,  who  had  done  me  a 
service  in  my  distress,  on  the  occasion  of  one  of  my  former 
visits.  He  had  loaned  or  given  me  a  cap  and  a  pair  of 
stockings  which  I  never  returned  him,  and  which  he  never 
asked  after,  though  we  have  frequently  seen  each  other 
since  then.  However,  I  afterwards  made  hira  a  present  of 
about  the  same  value.  Nay,  I  could  go  farther  than  that, 
were  what  I  have  owed  the  question  in  hand;  but  the  ques- 
tion is  as  to  what  I  have  done,  which  unfortunately  is  not 
exactly  the  same  thing. 

I  saw,  too,  the  noble  and  generous  Perrichon,  nor  was 
it  without  experiencing  the  effects  of  his  accustomed  muni- 
ficence, for  he  made  me  the  same  present  he  had  formerly 
made  the  elegant  Bernard,  by  paying  for  my  place  in  the 
diligence.  I  revisited  the  surgeon  Parisot,  best  and  most 
benevolent  of  men,  as  also  his  beloved  Godefroi,  who  had 
lived  with  him  fourteen  years,  and  whose  worth  lay  mainly 
in  her  sweetness  of  disposition  and  kindness  of  heart,  but 
whom  it  was  impossible  to  meet  without  interest  or  quit 
without  heart-felt  pity,  for  she  was  then  in  the  last  stage  of 
a  consumption  of  which  she  shortly  afterwards  died.  Noth- 
ing more  vividly  reveals  a  man's  real  bent  than  the  nature 
of  his  attachments  *.  If  you  once  saw  the  gentle  Godefroi 
you  immediately  knew  the  worthy  Parisot. 

*  Unless  indeed  he  be  deceived  in  his  choice,  or  the  character  of  her 
to  whom  he  attaches  himself  becomes  changed  by  an  extraordinary  con- 
currence of  events,  which  is  not  absolutely  impossible.  Were  this 
principle  laid  down  without  any  qualification,  Socrates  must  be  judged 
of  by  his  wife  Zantippe  and  Dion  by  his  friend  Calippus,  which  would 
be  the  most  false  and  unjust  judgment  ever  made.  Howbeit,  let  no 
wrongful  application  of  what  I  am  saying  be  made  to  my  wife.  She  has, 
'tis  true,  proved  narrower  and  more  easily  deceived  than  I  had  tlioiiglit, 
but  her  pure  and  excellent  disposition,  untainted  by  malice,  renders  her 
worthy  of  all  my  esteem  and  this  she  will  have  so  long  as  I  live. 

[Notes  not  marked  Tr.  are  by  Rousseau  himself]  Translator. 


8  Rousseau's  confessions. 

I  was  under  obligations  to  all  these  worthy  people. 
Afterwards,  indeed,  I  neglected  them  all, — not,  assuredly, 
from  ingratitude,  but  from  that  invincible  indolence  of  mine 
that  has  oft  made  me  seem  ungrateful  when  I  was  the 
farthest  possible  from  being  so  in  reality.  Never  has  the 
remembrance  of  their  kindness  been  effaced  from  my  mind, 
nor  the  impression  it  produced  from  my  heart;  but  I  could 
much  more  easily  have  proved  my  gratitude  than  have 
kept  up  a  continual  reiteration  thereof.  Punctuality  in 
writing  has  always  been  beyond  my  ability:  the  moment  I 
begin  to  relax,  the  shame  and  embarassmeut  I  feel  in  mak- 
ing amends  for  my  fault  but  causes  me  to  aggravate  it,  and 
so  I  leave  off  writing  altogether.  I  therefore  remained 
silent,  and  appeared  to  forget  them.  Parisot  and  Perrichon 
never  even  noticed  my  negligence,  and  I  always  found  them 
the  same;  but,  twenty  years  after,  it  will  be  seen,  in  the 
case  of  M.  Bordes,  how  far  the  self-love  of  your  fine  wit 
can  make  him  carry  his  vengeance,  when  he  conceives  him- 
self neglected. 

Before  leaving  Lyons,  I  must  not  forget  an  amiable 
person  whom  I  saw  a  second  time  with  more  pleasure  than 
ever,  and  who  left  the  most  tender  remembrance  in  my  heart. 
I  speak  of  Mlle,.^eire_to  whom  I  alluded  in  Part  First, 
and  with  whom  I  had  renewed  my  acquaintance  while  at 
M.  de  Mably's.  Having  more  leisure  this  time,  I  saw  more 
of  her,  and  my  heart  was  caught,  completely  caught.  I 
had  some  reason  to  believe  that  she  herself  looked  on  me 
with  no  unfavorable  eye  ;  but  she  accorded  me  a  confidence 
that  removed  all  temptation  to  my  taking  advantage  of  her 
partiality.  She  was  fortuneless, — ditto  1  :  so  our  cii'cum- 
stances  were  too  much  aUke  to  authorize  our  union,  and, 
indeed,  with  the  views  I  then  entertained,  marriage  was  the 
last  thing  m  my  head.  She  let  me  know  that  a  young  mer- 
chant, named  M.  Geneve,  seemed  to  wish  to  obtain  her 
hand.  I  saw  him  once  or  twice  at  her  dweUing  :  he  ap- 
peared to  me  to  be  an  honest  man,  and  so  he  was  reputed. 
Persuaded  she  would  be  happy  with  him,  I  was  desirous  he 
should  marry  her,  which  he  afterwards  did  ;  and  that  I  might 
not  disturb  their  innocent  love,  I  hastened  my  departure.', 
offering  up  prayers  for  the  happiness  of  that  charming 
woman,  which  alas  I  were  but  for  a  short  time  answered  here 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  VII.     1*141.  9 

below;  for  I  afterwards  learned  that  she  died  the  second  or 
third  year  after  her  marriage.  Absorbed  in  tender  regret 
during  the  wliole  journey,  I  felt  (and  I  have  often  felt  since 
on  thinking  over  the  matter)  that  if  sacrifices  for  the  sake 
of  duty  and  virtue  are  painful  to  make,  they  yet  do  bring 
an  exceeding  great  reward  in  the  sweet  recollections  they 
leave  in  the  heart. 

My  present  sight  of  Paris  was  as  much  from  its  brilliant, 
as  my  former  view  had  been  from  its  unfavorable  side.  Not 
that  my  lodgings  were  anything  extra,  for  in  accordance 
with  a  recommendation  given  me  by  M.  Bordes,  I  took  up 
my  quarters  at  the  Saint  Quentin  hotel,  rue  des  Cordiers, 
near  the  Sorboune — a  villainous  street,  villainous  hotel  and 
ditto  room,  but  which  nevertheless  had  lodged  many  meri- 
torious men,  as  Gresset,  Bordes,  the  Abbes  de  Mably,  de 
Condillac  and  others,  none  of  whom,  unfortunately,  I  could 
then  find;  though  I  did  find  a  M.  de  Bonnefond,  a  lame  and 
litigious  country-squire  who  affected  the  purist,  and  to  whom 
I  owed  the  acquaintance  of  M.  Roguin,  at  present  the  oldest 
friend  I  have.  Through  him  I  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Diderot,  of  whom  I  shall  have  much  to  say  in  the  sequel. 

I  arrived  at  Paris  in  the  autumn  of  1741,  with  fifteen 
louis  in  my  purse,  my  comedy  of  Nardsse  in  my  pocket  and 
my  mu.sical  project  in  my  head.  This  being  all  I  had  to  rely 
on,  you  may  well  think  I  had  not  much  time  to  lose  before 
turning  them  to  some  account.  Accordingly  I  embraced  au 
early  opportunity  of  turning  my  recommendations  to  account. 
A  young  man  coming  to  Paris,  with  a  passable  figure  and 
manifesting  respectable  talent  is  always  sure  of  a  hearty 
welcome.  This  I  got,  and  though  it  did  not  lead  to  any- 
thing much,  it  still  made  life  very  pleasant.  Of  all  the  persons 
to  whom  I  was  recommended,  iDut  three  proved  of  any  ser- 
vice to  me.  These  were  M.  Damesin,  a  gentleman  of  Savoy, 
at  that  time  ^Master  of  the  horse  to,  and,  I  believe,  a  fa- 
vorite of  the  Princess  de  Carignan;  M.  de  Boze,  Secretary 
of  the  Academy  of  Inscriptions  and  Keeper  of  the  medals 
of  the  King's  Cabinet,  and  Father  Castel,  a  Jesuit  and 
author  of  the  Clavecin  Oculaire — (The  Ocular  Harpsichord.) 
All  these  recommendations,  with  the  exception  of  that  to 
M.  Damesin,  came  from  the  Abbe  de  Mably. 

M.  Damesin  provided  for  the  most  urgent  of  my  neces- 

1* 


10  Rousseau's  confessions. 

sities  through  two  gentlemen  to  whom  he  introduced  me: 
the  one  M.  de  Gase,  President  a  mortier  of  the  parh'ament 
of  Bordeaux,  who  was  a  fine  violinist;  the  other  M.  I'Abbe 
Leou,  then  lodging  in  the  Sorbonue,  a  most  amiable  young 
nobleman,  who'died  in  the  prime  of  life,  alter  having  for  a 
very  brief  season  made  a  figure  in  the  world,  under  the 
name  of  the  Chevalier  de  Rohan.  Both  these  gentlemen 
took  the  notion  of  studying  composition,  and  I  gave  them 
several  months'  lessons,  which  somewhat  replenished  my 
purse,  then  rapidly  growing  beautifully  light.  The  Abbe  de 
Leon  conceived  a  friendship  for  me,  and  wanted  me  to  be- 
come his  secretary;  but  he  was  far  from  being  rich,  and  all 
the  salary  he  could  offer  was  eight  hundred  francs,  which 
I  refused''  with  regret,  it  not  sufficing  to  defray  the  expense 
of  my  lodging,  food  and  clothing. 

I  met"  with  a  kind  reception  from  M.  de  Boze.  He 
had  a  liking  for  knowledge,  and  was  himself  a  man  of  con- 
siderable culture,  though'a  little  of  a  pedant.  Madame  de 
Boze  might  have  been  his  daughter:  she  was  brilliant  and 
affected.  "  At  times  I  dined  with  them.  'T  would  be  impos- 
sible to  be  more  awkward,  more  slieepish  and  silly  than  I 
was  in  her  presence.  Her  easy  manners  quite  intimidated 
me,  at  the  same  time  making  me  look  still  more  ridiculous. 
When  she  handed  me  a  plate,  I  would  reach  forward  my 
fork  and  modestly  pick  up  a  small  piece  of  what  she  offered 
me,  so  that  she  had  to  hand  the  plate  she  had  destined  for 
me  to  the  waiter,  meanwhile  turning  her  head  round  so 
that  I  might  not  observe  the  laugh  on  her  face.  Little 
suspected  she  that,  in  the  head  of  that  poor,  bashful  rustic, 
there  was  nevertheless  some  little  wit.  M.  de  Boze  presented 
me  to  his  friend  M.  de  Reaumur,  who  used  to  dine  with  him 
every  Friday,  the  day  the  Academy  of  Sciences  held  its 
meetings.  He  spoke  to  him  of  my  project,  and  of  the  desire 
I  felt  to  submit  it  to  the  Academy,  M.  de  Reaumur  under- 
took its  presentation,  which  was  agreed  upon.  On  the  ap- 
pointed day,  I  was  introduced  and  presented  by  M.  de 
Reaumur;  and  on  the  same  day,  August  22nd  1142,  I  had 
the  honor  of  reading  before  the  Academy  the  Memoire  I 
had  prepared  for  the  occasion.  Tliough  that  illustrious  as- 
sembly was  assuredly  very  imposing,  I  felt  much  less  intim- 
idated than  before  Madame  de  Boze,  and  I  managed  to 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VII.       1742.  H 

get  through  tolerably  well  with  my  reading  and  my  replies. 
The  Memoire  was  quite  successful  and  was  the  occasion  of 
my  receiving  various  compliments,  to  me  as  unexpected  as 
they  were  flattering,  for  I  could  hardly  imagine  an  Acad- 
emy's allowing  an  outsider  the  possibility  of  anything  like 
common  sense.  The  persons  appointed  to  examine  my  sys- 
tem were  MM.  de  Marian,  Hellot  and  de  Fouchy,  all  three, 
to  be  sure,  men  of  ability,  but  not  one  of  whom  understood 
music, — at  least  not  enough  to  be  qualified  to  judge  of  my 
project. 

(1742.)  During  my  conferences  with  these  gentlemen, 
I  became  convinced,  and  the  conviction  was  as  firm  as  it  was 
surprising  to  me,  that,  if  savans  have  by  times  fewer  preju- 
dices than  other  men,  they  make  up  for  it  by  holding  on  all  the 
more  tenaciously  to  those  they  do  have.  However  feeble, 
however  false  most  of  their  objections  were,  and  though  I 
replied  peremptorily  thereto  (albeit  timidly,  I  confess,  and 
with  not  the  best  of  language;,  still  I  could  never  once  man- 
age to  make  myself  understood  or  to  satisfy  them.  I  was 
constantly  dumb-founded  by  the  facility  with  which,  by  the 
help  of  a  few  high-sounding  phrases,  they  were  able  to  re- 
fute, without  at  all  comprehending  me.  They  had  dis- 
covered, from  what  source  is  more  than  I  know,  that  a 
certain  monk,  called  Father  Souhaitti,  had  already  conceived 
the  idea  of  noting  the  gamut  by  ciphers.  This,  of  course, 
was  ground  enough  for  the  pretense  that  my  system  was 
nothing  new.  Well,  let  that  go  ;  for,  albeit  I  had  never 
heard  of  such  a  person  as  Father  Souhaitti,  and  albeit  his 
mode  of  writing  the  seven  notes  of  '  plain  chant,'  without 
making  any  provision  for  the  octaves,  was  in  no  wise  worthy 
of  entering  into  competitiou  with  my  simple  and  convenient 
invention  for  the  easy  noting,  by  means  of  ciphers,  of  all 
imaginable  music — clefs,  rests,  octaves,  measure,  time  and 
quantity, — matters  whereof  Souhaitti  had  not  even  dreamed, 
the  assertion  was  nevertheless  quite  true  that,  as  to  the 
elementary  expression  of  the  seven  notes,  he  was  the  first 
inventor.  But,  aside  from  the  fact  that  they  gave  this  pri- 
ority of  invention  a  quite  undue  importance,  they  did  not 
stop  here;  and  when  they  came  to  speak  of  the  foundation 
of  the  system,  they  talked  sheer  nonsense.  The  greatest 
advantage  of  my  scheme  was  its  doing  away  with  transposi- 


12  Rousseau's  confessions. 

tions  and  clefs,  so  that  the  same  piece  could  be  noted  and 
transposed  at  will,  on  any  pitch  desired,  by  merely  suppos- 
ing a  change  of  a  single  initial  letter  placed  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  air.  These  gentlemen  had  heard  it  said  among  the 
Parisian  oyster-house  critics  that  the  method  of  executing 
by  transposition  was  worthless,  and  on  this  ground  they 
converted  the  most  palpable  advantage  of  ray  system  into 
an  invincible  objection  against  it.  They  decided  that  my 
mode  of  notation  was  good  for  vocal,  but  bad  for  instru- 
mental music  ;  instead  of  deciding,  as  they  ought  to  have 
done,  that  it  was  good  for  vocal,  and  still  better  for  instru- 
mental. Their  report  given  in,  the  Academy  granted  me  a 
certificate  full  of  very  fine  compliments,  throOgh  which  it 
was  discernible  that  the  fact  of  the  matter  was  they  judged 
my  system  neither  new  nor  useful.  I  did  not  think  it  incum- 
bent on  me  to  adorn  with  a  document  of  that  sort  the  work 
entitled  "A  Dissertation  on  Modern  Music" — (Dissertation 
sur  la  Mnsique  modern),  wherein  I  appealed  to  the  public  in 
favor  of  my  scheme. 

I  had  occasion  to  observe  in  this  little  matter  how,  even 
with  a  narrow  mind,  the  simple  but  profound  knowledge  of 
a  subject  is  preferable,  in  the  formation  of  a  correct  judg- 
ment touching  it,  to  all  the  lights  resulting  from  a  cultiva- 
tion of  the  sciences,  when  to  these  has  not  been  added  a 
particular  study  of  the  special  matter  in  hand.  The  only 
solid  objection  to  which  my  system  was  exposed  was  one 
that  Rameau  made.  Scarcely  had  I  begun  explaining 
it  to  him  than  he  saw  its  weak  side.  "  Your  signs,"  said  he 
to  me,  "  are  very  good,  in  as  much  as  they  determine  simply 
and  clearly  the  length  of  the  notes,  exactly  represent  the 
intervals,  and  in  every  case  exhibit  the  simple  in  the  doubled 
note — all  matters  which  the  common  notation  does  not 
touch  ;  but  they  are  objectionable  in  that  they  require  a 
mental  operation,  whereas  the  mind  cannot  always  keep  up 
with  the  rapidity  of  execution.  The  position  of  our  notes," 
continued  he,  "  paints  the  matter  to  the  eye  without  the 
necessity  of  this  operation.  If  two  notes,  the  one  very 
high  and  the  other  very  low,  be  joined  by  a  series  of  inter- 
mediate ones,  I  see  at  the  first  glance  the  progress  from 
the  one  to  the  other  by  conjoined  degrees  ;  but,  in  your 
method,  in  order  to  make  sure  of  this  series,  I  am  neces- 


PERIOD   II.     BOOK  VII.       1741.  13 

sarily  compelled  to  spell  out  your  figures  one  by  one, — the 
eye  is  in  this  case  of  no  assistance."  The  objection  ap- 
peared to  be  unanswerable,  and  I  instantly  assented  to  it. 
Although  it  be  simple  and  palpable,  nothing  but  long  prac- 
tice of  the  art  could  have  suggested  it,  and  it  is  no  wonder 
that  none  of  the  Academicians  thought  of  it  ;  but  it  is  as- 
tonishing that  these  great  philosophers,  who  know  so  much, 
should  so  seldom  be  aware  that  no  one  should  attempt  a 
judgment  out  of  his  province  of  inquiry. 

My  frequent  visits  to  the  commissioners  appointed  to 
examine  my  system,  as  well  as  to  other  academicians  gave 
me  an  opportunity  of  becoming  acquainted  with  the  most 
distinguished  literary  men  of  Paris,  so  that  when  I  after- 
wards came  to  be  all  of  a  sudden  enrolled  in  their  number, 
I  was  already  acquainted  with  them.  For  the  present,  ab- 
sorbed in  my  musical  scheme,  I  persisted  in  my  desire  to 
effect  thereby  a  revolution  in  the  art,  and  thus  attain  to  a 
celebrity  which,  in  the  fine  arts,  is  always  a  sure  way  to 
fortune  in  Paris.  I  shut  myself  up  in  my  room  and  for 
three  or  four  months  labored  with  inexpressible  ardor  at 
recasting  into  a  work  destined  for  the  public,  the  Memoire 
I  had  read  before  the  Academy.  The  trouble  was  to  fiud 
a  publisher  that  would  undertake  to  bring  out  my  manu- 
script, seeing  that  there  would  be  some  outlay  in  getting 
new  characters  cast.  Publishers  are  not  specially  dis- 
tinguished for  their  lavish  generosity  to  young  authors,  and 
yet  it  did  seem  to  me  but  just  that  my  work  should  bring 
me  in  the  bread  I  had  eaten  when  engaged  in  its  composi- 
tion. 

Bonnefond  introduced  me  to  Quillau  Sen.,  who  entered 
into  an  engagement  with  me  for  half  tlie  profits,  without 
counting  the  '  license,'  of  which  I  paid  the  whole  expense. 
The  said  Quillau  so  managed  things  that  I  lost  the  n^ney 
paid  for  my  '  license,'  and  never  got  a  farthing  from  thi-s 
edition,  wiiich,  apparently,  made  no  great  hit,  albeit  the 
Abbe  Desfontaines  promised  to  make  it  go,  and  the  other 
journalists  had  spoken  quite  favorably  of  it. 

The  chief  obstacle  in  the  woy  of  a  trial  of  my  system 
was  the  fear  people  felt  that,  if  it  did  not  come  into  vogue, 
they  would  be  losing  the  time  they  might  spend  learning 
it.     To  this  I  replied  that  practising  by  ray  notation  ren- 


14  Rousseau's  confessions. 

dered  the  ideas  so  clear  that,  even  with  a  view  to  learning 
music  by  the  ordinary  method,  they  would  do  well  to  com- 
mence by  mine.  To  bring  this  to  the  test  of  ex[jenmeut,  I 
taught  music  gratis  to  a  young  American  lady,  named  Mile. 
Des  Roulins,  to  whom  M.  Roguiu  had  introduced  me.  In 
three  mouths  she  was  able,  by  means  of  my  notation,  to 
read  any  music  whatever,  and  even  to  sing  at  sight,  much 
better  than  I  could  myself,  any  piece  that  was  not  over- 
loaded with  difficulties.  This  success  was  striking,  but  it 
was  unknown.  Another  person  would  have  filled  the  papers 
with  the  fame  of  it ;  but,  whatever  talent  I  may  have  for 
the  discovery  of  useful  things,  I  never  had  any  for  setting 
them  off  to  advantage. 

Thus  was  my  Hiero's  fountain,  once  more  broken  ;* 
but  the  second  time  I  was  thirty  years  old,  and  in  the 
streets  of  Paris,  where  living  is  not  exactly  gratis.  The 
course  I  determined  upon  will  astonish  only  those  who  have 
not  read  the  first  part  of  these  Memoirs  with  attention.  I  had 
been  engaged  in  great  but  fruitless  efforts,  and  felt  the  need  of 
breathing-time.  Instead  of  giving  myself  over  to  despair,  I 
calmly  resigned  myself  to  my  indolence  and  to  the  care  of 
Providence  ;  and,  not  to  hurry  him  in  his  work,  I  set  myself 
coolly  to  laying  out  some  few  louis  I  still  had  left,  regulating, 
though  not  retrenching,  the  expense  of  my  loafing  pleasures, 
going  to  the  cafe  but  every  other  day,  and  to  the  theatre 
but  twice  a  week.  As  to  women,  I  had  no  reform  to  insti- 
tute, never  having  in  my  life  spent  a  farthing  in  that  way, 
unless  it  be  once,  of  which  I  shall  soon  have  occasion  to 
speak. 

The  free-and-easy  security  and  satisfaction  with  which  I 
gave  myself  up  to  this  indolent  and  solitary  sort  of  life — a 
life  I  had  not  funds  enough  to  continue  for  three  months — 
is  one  of  the  singularities  of  my  life,  one  of  the  whimsicali- 
ties'of  my  humor.  The  urgent  necessity  I  was  in  of  becom- 
ing known  was  precisely  what  took  from  me  the  courage  to 
come  out  and  show  myself,  while  being  obliged  to  pay  visits 
made  them  so  unbearable  to  me,  that  I  even  left  off  going 
to  see  the  Academicians  and  other  literati  with  whom  I 
hud  already  got  mixed  up.  Marivuux,  the  Abbe  Mably, 
and  Fontenelle,  were  almost  the  only  persons  I  continued  to 

*  Vol.  I.  p.  128. 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  VII.       1741.  15 

visit  at  all.  To  the  first,  I  even  showed  my  coraedy  of  Nar- 
cisse.  It  rather  pleased  him,  and  he  had  the  goodness  to 
add  a  touch  here  and  there.  Diderot,  younger  than  these, 
was  about  my  own  age.  He  understood  the  theory  of 
music,  and  was  quite  fond  of  the  art  ;  we  used  to  converse 
together  on  the  subject,  and  he  also  spoke  to  me  of  his  lit- 
erary projects.  Tliis  soon  gave  rise  to  closer  relations 
between  us,  relations  that  lasted  for  fifteen  years,  and  which 
would,  in  all  probability,  have  continued  still  had  not 
I,  unfortunately,  and  by  no  fault  of  mine,  been  thrown  into 
the  same  pursuit  with  himself.  'T  would  be  impossible  for 
you  to  imagine  how  I  employed  the  brief  and  precious  in- 
terval that  remained  before  I  should  be  compelled  to  beg 
my  bread  :  I  spent  it  in  learning  passages  from  the  poets — 
passages  I  had  committed  to  memory  a  hundred  times  be- 
fore, and  a  hundred  times  forgotten.  Every  morning, 
towards  ten  o'clock,  I  went  and  walked  up  and  down  the 
Luxembourg,  with  a  Virgil  or  a  Rousseau*  in  my  pocket, 
and  there,  until  dinner-time,  I  would  labor  away  over  a 
sacred  ode  or  a  bucolic,  without  at  all  growing  discouraged 
at  the  fact  that  in  learning  the  day's  task  I  quite  forgot 
what  I  had  learned  yesterday.  I  recollected  that  after  the 
defeat  of  Nicias  at  Syracuse,  the  captive  Athenians  gained 
a  hvelihood  by  reciting  the  poems  of  Homer.  The  account 
to  which  I  turned  this  piece  of  erudition,  in  the  way  of  se- 
curing me  against  want,  was  to  exercise  my  happy  memory 
in  retaining  all  the  poets  by  heart. 

I  had  another  no  less  solid  expedient  in  chess,  to  which 
I  regularly  devoted  the  afternoons  of  the  days,  I  did  not 
go  to  the  theatre.  This  was  at  Maugis'.  Here  I  made 
the  acquaintance  of  M.  de  Legal  and  a  Mr.  Husson  ;  also 
of  Philidor  and  all  the  famous  chess-players  of  the  day, 
and — I  became  not  a  whit  the  more  skilful. f  However, 
I  had  no  doubt  but  that  I  should  in  the  end  become  more 
powerful  than  the  whole  of  them,  and  this  would  of  itself, 
according  to  my  ideas,  be  support  enough  for  me.  What- 
ever mania  seized  me,  I  always  applied  the  same  sort  of 
reasoning  to  it.     I  said  to  myself  :  "  Whoever  is  first  in 

*  J.  B.  Rousseau,  the  poet.     Tr. 

t  The  reader  will  remember  his  abortive  attempts  to  become  a  chess 
player  iu  Vol.  I. 


16  Rousseau's  confessions. 

anything — be  it  what  it  may — is  always  sure  of  being 
sought  after.  Let  us  then  be  first,  it  matters  not  in  what, 
and  I,  too,  shall  be  sought  after  ;  opportunities  will  present 
themselves,  and  my  genius  will  do  the  rest."  This  piece  of 
puerility  was  not  a  sophisn:;  suggested  by  my  reason,  but  by 
my  indolence.  Dismayed  at  the  great  and  rapid  efforts  I 
should  be  obliged  to  put  forth  in  order  to  attain  to  anything, 
I  endeavored  to  flatter  my  indolence,  and  veiled  the  shame 
I  should  have  felt  thereat  by  arguments  worthy  thereof. 

Calmly  thus  I  awaited  the  time  when  my  funds  should 
give  out,  and  I  should,  I  dare  say,  have  been  reduced  to  my 
last  farthing  without  my  feeling  the  slightest  concern,  had  not 
Father  Castel,  whom  I  at  times  dropped  in  to  see,  while  on 
my  way  to  the  cafe,  roused  me  from  my  lethargy.  Father 
Castel,  though  rather  crack-brained,  was  a  good  sort  of 
fellow,  on  the  whole,  and  felt  angry  at  seeing  me  using  my- 
self up  to  no  purpose.  "  Since  neither  musicians  nor 
savans,"  said  he  to  me,  "  sing  in  unison  with  you,  change 
your  tune,  and  see  how  you  get  on  with  the  ladies.  Per- 
haps you'll  succeed  better  in  that  direction.  I  have  spoken 
of  you  to  Madam  de  Beuzeuval  ;  go  and  see  her.  She  is  a 
kind  person,  and  will  be  glad  to  see  a  countryman  of  her 
husband  and  her  son.  You  will  find  at  her  house  her 
daughter,  Madam  de  Broglie,  a  woman  of  culture.  Madam 
Dupiii  is  another  I  have  spoken  of  you  too  :  take  her  youi 
book  ;  she  is  desirous  of  seeing  you,  and  will  give  you  a 
kind  reception.  Nothing  is  done  in  Paris  without  the  wo- 
men ;  they  are  like  arcs,  of  which  the  philosophers  are  the 
asymptotes — they  constantly  approach  each  other,  but  never 
touch." 

After  having  from  day  to  day  put  off  this  terrible 
ordeal,  I  at  length  plucked  up  courage  and  called  upon  Ma- 
dam de  Beuzenval.  She  received  me  kindly.  Madam  d* 
Broglie,  entering  her  room,  she  said  to  her,  "  My  daughter 
this  is  M.  Rousseau,  of  whom  Father  Castel  was  speaking.'' 
Madam  de  Broglie  complimented  me  on  my  work,  and  con- 
ducting me  to  her  harpsichord,  proved  to  me  that  she  had 
been  looking  into  it.  Perceiving  by  the  time-piece  that  it 
was  close  on  one  o'clock,  I  was  preparing  to  take  ray  leave, 
when  Madam  de  Beuzenval  said  to  me,  "  You're  quite  a 
distance  from  your  quarters  ;  stay  and  dine  here,"     I  did 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  VII.        17-41.  IT 

not  need  much  pressing.  Quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards  I 
gathered  from  a  word  dropt  that  the  dinuer  to  which  I  was 
invited  was  dinner  in  the  servants'  hall.  Madam  de  Beu- 
zenval  was  a  worthy  enough  sort  of  woman,  but  narrow- 
minded,  and  a  trifle  too  full  of  her  illustrious  Polish  nobility. 
Precious  little  idea  had  she  of  the  respect  due  to  talent. 
Indeed,  on  this  occasion,  she  judged  me  rather  after  my  be- 
havior than  my  dress,  which,  although  quite  plain,  was  neat 
in  the  extreme,  and  by  no  means  announced  a  man  made  to 
dine  with  servants.  That  sort  of  thing  had  been  too  long 
out  of  my  line  for  me  very  readily  to  take  it  up.  Without 
at  all  allowing  my  vexation  to  appear,  I  observed  to  Madam 
de  Beuzenval  that  a  little  matter  that  just  then  recurred  to 
my  mind  would  force  me  to  return  home  ;  whereupon  I  was 
about  to  take  my  leave.  Madam  de  Broglie  approached 
her  mother  and  whispered  a  few  words  in  her  ear.  They 
took  effect ;  for  Madam  de  Beuzenval  rose  to  detain  me, 
and  said,  "  I  had  hoped  you  would  do  us  the  honor  of  din- 
ing with  usV  To  have  pettishly  refused  would,  1  thought, 
be  simply  silly  ;  so  I  remained.  Besides,  the  goodness  of 
Madam  de  Broglie  had  quite  affected  me  and  rendered  her 
interesting  in  my  eyes.  I  was  quite  glad  to  dine  with  lier, 
and  was  in  hope  that  on  a  further  acquaintance  she  would 
see  no  reason  to  regret  having  procured  me  the  honor. 
President  de  Lamoignon,  an  intimate  friend  of  the 
family,  dined  along  with  us.  He,  too,  like  Madam  de 
Broglie,  was  master  of  that  species  of  small-talk  peculiar  to 
Paris,  consisting  mainly  of  quips  and  fine-pointed  allusions, 
— not  exactly,  you  may  think,  the  circle  in  which  poor  Jean 
Jacques  was  fitted  to  shine.  I  had  sense  enough  not  to  at- 
tempt to  make  a  brilliant  figure,  invita  Minerva,  and  so  I 
held  my  tongue.  Happy  for  me  had  I  always  been  equally 
pi'udent  :  I  should  not  be  in  the  abyss  into  which  I  have 
now  fallen  ! 

I  felt  overwhelmed  with  shame  and  vexation  at  my 
dullness,  and  at  not  having  been  able  to  justify  to  the  eyes  of 
Madam  de  Broglie  what  she  had  done  in  my  favor.  After 
dinner  I  bethought  me  of  my  usual  resource.  I  had  in  my 
pocket  an  epistle  in  verse  addressed  to  Parisot,  which  I  had 
composed  during  my  stay  at  Lyons.  The  piece  was  full  of 
fire,  to  which  I  added  force  by  my  mode  of  reciting  it,  and 


]8  Rousseau's  confessions. 

I  made  them  all  three  shed  tears.  Be  it  vanity  or  be  it 
that  I  divined  rightly,  it  seemed  to  me  as  though  the 
looks  of  Madam  cle  Broglie  seemed  to  say  to  her  mother, 
"  Well,  Mamma,  was  I  wrong  in  telling  you  that  this  man 
was  fitter  to  dine  with  you  than  with  your  waiting-women  V 
Up  to  this  moment  1  had  felt  a  little  piqued,  but  after  see- 
ing myself  thus  revenged,  I  became  satisfied.  Madam  de 
Broglie,  pushing  her  favorable  opinion  of  me  somewhat  too 
far,  conceived  that  I  would  certainly  make  a  sensation  in 
Paris  and  become  quite  a  favorite  with  the  ladies.  To 
guide  my  inexperience  she  gave  me  the  Confessions  of 
Count  de. .  "  This  book,"  said  she  to  me,  "  is  a  Men- 
tor of  which  you  will  find  the  need  in  the  world  :  you'll  do 
well  to  consult  it  now  and  then."  I  kept  the  copy  for  over 
twenty  years,  through  gratitude  for  the  hand  from  which  it 
came,  though  I  have  indulged  in  many  a  laugh  at  the 
estimate  the  lady  seemed  to  have  formed  of  my  future  suc- 
cess in  the  amatory  Une.  From  the  moment  I  had  read 
the  work,  I  desired  to  obtain  the  friendship  of  the  author. 
My  instinct  led  me  right  :  he  is  the  only  real  friend  I  ever 
had  among  men  of  letters. 

Trom  this  time  forth  I  dared  to  count  that  the  Baron- 
ess de  Beuzenval  and  the  Marchioness  de  Broglie,  taking  an 
interest  in  me,  would  not  long  leave  me  destitute.  Nor  was 
I  deceived.  And  now  for  my  introduction  to  Madam 
Dupin's — an  event  productive  of  more  lasting  consequences. 

Madam  Dupin  was,  as  is  well  known,  a  daughter  of 
Samuel  Bernarcfand  Madam  Fontaine.  There  were  three 
sisters  of  them— the  three  Graces,  you  might  call  them  : 
Madam  de  La  Touche,  who  eloped  to  England  with  the 
Duke  of  Kingston  ;  Madam  d'Arty,  the  mistress,  ay,  and 
the  friend,  tiie  sole  and  sincere  friend  of  the  Prince  de 
Conti,  a  woman  adorable  as  well  for  her  sweetness,  for  the 
goodn'ess  of  her  charming  nature,  as  for  her  agreeable  wit 
and  the  unchanging  gayety  of  her  disposition  ;  lastly, 
Madam  Dupin,  the  loveliest  of  the  three,  and  the  only  one 
who  was  never  charged  with  any  dereliction  of  conduct. 
She  was  given  by  her  mother  to  M.  Dupin,  as  a  reward  foV 
his  hospitality,  along  with  the  place  of  '  Fermier  general ' 
and  an  immense  fortune,  in  gratitude  for  the  kind  receptioa 
she  had  met  with  from  him  while  in  his  province.    She  was, 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  VII.       1742.  19 

when  I  first  saw  her,  still  one  of  the  handsomest  women  in 
Paris.  She  received  me  at  her  toilet.  Her  arms  were 
bare,  her  hair  dishevelled,  her  peignoir  out  of  place.  This 
sort  of  reception  was  new  to  me  ;  my  poor  head  could  not 
stand  it :  I  grow  confused,  my  senses  wander — in  short, 
behold  me  violently  smitten  by  Madam  Dupin. 

My  confusion  was  not,  apparently,  prejudicial  to  me. 
She  took  no  notice  of  it.  She  kindly  received  book  and 
author,  spoke  to  me  of  my  project  like  a  person  who 
thoroughly  understood  it,  sang,  accompanied  herself  on  the 
harpsichord,  kept  me  to  dinner  and  had  me  sit  by  her  side. 
It  needed  not  all  this  to  turn  my  head  ;  and  turn  it,  it  did. 
She  gave  me  permission  to  visit  her  ;  I  used — I  abused  the 
privilege  :  I  went  there  almost  every  day,  and  dined  with 
her  two  or  three  times  a  week.  I  was  dying  with  the 
desire  to  make  a  declaration  ;  but  never  dared.  Several 
circumstances  heightened  my  natural  timidity.  Free  access 
to  a  wealthy  family  was  an  open  door  to  fortune,  and  in  my 
then  situation  I  was  unwilling  to  risk  its  being  shut  against 
me.  Madam  Dupin,  amiable  though  she  was,  was  staid  and 
cold,  nor  did  her  manners  offer  sufficient  encouragement  to 
embolden  me.  Her  house,  at  that  time  as  brilliant  as  any 
in  Paris,  drew  together  a  society  which  needed  but  to  have 
been  a  little  less  numerous  to  have  made  it  the  elite  in  every 
respect.  She  was  fond  of  having  brilliant  and  distinguished 
persons  around  her — the  great  men  of  letters  and  fine 
women.  You  saw  nobody  at  her  house  but  dukes,  ambas- 
sadors and  cordons-bkus.  She  could  call  the  Princess  de 
Rohan,  the  Countess  de  Forcalquier,  Madam  de  Mirepoix, 
Madam  de  Brignole,  Lady  Hervey  her  friends.  At  her  re- 
unions and  dinners  were  to  be  seen  M.  de  Fontenelle,  the 
Abbe  de  Saint-Pierre,  the  Abbe  Sallier,  M.  de  Fourmont,  M. 
de  Bernis,  M.  de  Buffon,  M.  de  Voltaire.  If  her  reserved  de- 
meanor did  not  attract  many  young  people,  her  company,  com 
posed  as  it  was  of  grave  and  distinguished  persons,  was  only 
the  more  imposing,  and  poor  Jean  Jacques  stood  no  great 
chance  of  shining  amid  so  brilliant  a  galaxy.  Not  daring  to 
speak,  then,  and  yet  unable  any  longer  to  remain  silent,  I  ven- 
tured to  write.  For  two  days  she  kept  my  letter  without  say- 
ing a  word  to  me  upon  the  subject.  On  the  third  day  she 
returned  it  to  me,  accompanied  by  a  few  words  of  advice, 


20  EOUSSEAU's  CONFESSIONS. 

spoken  in  an  icy  tone  that  froze  the  blood  of  me.  I  tried 
to  speak,  but  the  words  died  on  my  lips.  My  sudden  pas- 
sion went  out  with  my  extinguished  hopes  ;  and,  after  a 
formal  declaration,  I  continued  to  visit  her  as  before,  with- 
out another  word  on  the  subject,  not  even  through  the 
language  of  the  eyes. 

I  thought  my  folly  had  been  forgotten  ;  but  I  was  mis- 
taken. M.  de  Francueil,  son  of  M.  and  son-in-law  of 
Madam  Dupin,  was  about  her  age,  which  was  also  about 
mine.  He  was  a  fellow  of  mind,  with  a  good  figure,  and 
may  have  had  pretensions  :  't  was  said,  at  least,  that  he 
had,  simply,  perhaps,  because  she  had  given  him  a  very 
good-natured  but  very  ugly  wife,  who  lived  on  the  best  of 
terms  with  both  of  them.  M.  de  Francueil  loved  and  cul- 
tivated accomplishments  of  one  sort  or  another.  Music,  in 
which  he  was  quite  a  proficient,  became  a  bond  of  union 
between  us.  I  saw  him  often  and  grew  quite  attached  to 
him.  Suddenly,  however,  he  gave  me  to  understand  that 
Madam  Dupin  thought  my  visits  too  frequent,  and  begged 
me  to  discontinue  them.  Such  a  compliment  might  have 
been  in  place  when  she  returned  me  my  letter ;  but,  eight 
or  ten  days  afterwards,  and  without  any  additional  cause, 
it  came,  it  seems  to  me,  a  little  ill-timed.  This  rendered 
my  situation  all  the  more  singular  as  I  still  met  with  as 
kind  a  reception  as  ever  from  M.  and  Mme.  de  Francueil. 
However,  ]  went  less  frequently  and  would  have  discon- 
tinued my  visits  altogether,  had  not  Madam  Dupin,  by  an- 
other unlooked  for  freak,  sent  to  desire  that  I  would  take 
the  charge  of  her  son  for  eight  or  ten  days,  as  a  new  tutor 
was  being  engaged,  and  meanwhile  he  would  be  left  with- 
out supervision.  I  passed  these  eight  days  in  a  torment 
which  naught  but  the  pleasure  of  obeying  Madam  Dupin 
rendered  endurable  ;  for  poor  Chenonccaux  was  even  then 
under  the  influence  of  that  malign  star  that  led  him  to 
dishonor  his  relatives  and  ultimately  led  to  his  death  on 
the  lie  de  Bourbon.  Whilst  I  was  with  him,  I  prevented 
his  doing  himself  or  others'  any  harm  :  that's  all — nor  by 
the  way,  was  this  a  very  easy  matter,  and  I  would  not  have 
taken  charge  of  him  another  eight  days,  had  Madam  Dupin 
given  me  herself  as  a  reward. 

M.  de  Francueil  conceived  a  friendship  for  me,  and  we 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  VII.        1742.  21 

prosecuted  our  studies  together.  We  began  a  course  of 
chemistry  under  Rouelle.  To  be  the  nearer  to  hira,  I  left 
my  quarters  in  the  Saint  Quentin  hotel,  and  took  up  my 
lodgings  at  the  Tennis  Court,  rue  Verdolet,  which  leads 
into  the  rue  Platrkrt,'^  where  M.  Dupin  lived.  There, 
in  consequence  of  a  cold  1  caught  and  which  I  neglected, 
I  brought  on  an  inflammation  of  the  lungs  which  came  near 
carrying  me  off.  In  my  younger  days  I  frequently  suffered 
from  these  inflammatory  maladies, — from  pleurisies,  and 
especially  from  quinsies,  to  which  I  was  specially  subject : 
of  these  I  take  no  notice  ;  sufiice  it  to  say  that  they  all  of 
them  gave  me  a  close  enough  view  of  death  to  make  me 
familiar  with  its  image.  During  my  convalescence,  I  had 
time  to  reflect  on  my  situation,  and  to  deplore  my  timidity, 
weakness  and  indolence,  which,  notwithstanding  the  fire 
that  burned  within  me,  left  me  to  languish  in  mental  inac- 
tivity and  was  constantly  bringing  me  face  to  face  with 
want.  The  evening  previous  to  the  day  I  fell  ill,  I  had 
gone  to  hear  one  of  Royer's  Operas,  then  being  performed  : 
what  the  name  of  it  was,  I  have  forgotten.  Spite  of  my 
prejudice  in  favor  of  the  talents  of  others  and  my  disposi- 
tion to  distrust  my  own,  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  the 
music  to  which  I  was  listening  was  devoid  of  invention,  was 
feeble  and  cold.  I  even  ventured  now  and  then  to  say  to 
myself,  "It  does  seem  to  me,  as  though  I  could  do  better 
than  that !"  But  the  terrible  idea  I  had  of  the  composition 
of  an  opera  and  the  importance  I  was  accustomed  to  hear 
musicians  attach  to  the  undertaking,  instantly  dispelled  all 
idea  of  the  kind  and  made  me  blush  at  even  having  dared 
to  think  of  such  a  thing.  Besides,  where  was  I  to  find  a 
person  to  furnish  the  words  and  take  the  trouble  to  turn 
them  to  my  liking  ?  These  musical  and  operatic  ideas  re- 
turned during  my  illness,  and,  in  the  delirium  of  my  fever, 
I  composed  many  a  song,  duet  and  chorus.  I  feel  certain 
of  having  wrought  out  two  or  three  morceaux  di  prima  in- 
tenzione,  worthy,  perchance,  of  the  admiration  of  art-masters, 
could  they  have  heard  them  executed.  Oh,  could  but  the 
dreams  of  the  fever-wrought  brain  be  preserved,  what  great 
and  sublime  things  might  not  the  audacious  fantasy  frodR 
its  high-scaling  flights  bring  home  1 

*  Now  called  rue  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau. — Tr. 


22  Rousseau's  confessions. 

These  musical  and  operatic  thoughts  filled  my  mind, 
though  more  tranquilly,  during  my  convalescence.  By  dint 
of  meditating  on  the  subject,  and  even  in  spite  of  myself, 
I  determined  to  come  to  clearness  on  the  matter,  and  at- 
tempt to  compose  an  opera,  words,  music  and  all  myself. 
'Twas  not  exactly  my  first  attempt.  While  at  Chamber!, 
I  had  composed  an  opera-tragedy,  entitled  Iphis  and  Anax- 
aretes,  which  I  had  had  the  good  sense  to  throw  into  the 
fire.  At  Lyons,  too,  I  had  put  one  together  which  I  called 
the  Discovery  of  the  New  World  {la  Decouvcrte  du  Nouveau- 
Monde)  which,  after  reading  it  to  M.  Bordes,  the  Abbe 
Mably,  the  Abbd  Trublet  and  others,  I  had  sent  after  the  first, 
albeit  that  I  had  composed  the  music  of  the  prologue  and  , 
the  first  act,  and  although  David,  after  examining  the 
music,  had  told  me  that  it  contained  passages  worthy  of 
Buononcini. 

This  time,  before  putting  my  hand  to  the  work,  I  took 
time  to  consider  my  plan.  I  projected  a  heroic  ballet,  made  - 
up  of  three  difi"erent  subjects,  in  three  detached  acts,  each 
set  to  a  distinct  style  of  music  ;  and  taking  the  loves  of  a 
poet  for  the  subject  of  each,  I  entitled  the  opera  Les  Muses  ^ 
Galantes.  The  first  act  was  to  be  founded  on  the  life  of " 
Tasso,  and  was  in  a  strongly  marked  style  of  music  ;  the 
second,  in  the  tender  way,  got  its  inspiration  from  Ovid  ; 
and  the  third,  entitled  Anacreon,  was  to  breathe  the  gayety 
of  the  dithyramb.  I  began  by  trying  my  hand  on  the  first 
act,  and  I  went  into  it  with  an  ardor  that,  for  the  first  time, 
gave  me  a  taste  of  the  rapture  of  creation.  One  evening, 
while  about  to  enter  the  opera,  feeling  haunted,  o'er  master- 
ed by  my  ideas,  I  put  my  money  back  into  my  pocket,  hast- 
ened home,  went  to  bed,  taking  care  to  close  the  curtains, 
so  that  the  light  might  not  reach  me,  and  there,  abandoning 
me  to  the  rushing  spirit  of  poesy  and  song,  I  in  seven  or 
eight  hours  rapidly  composed  the  best  part  of  the  act.  I 
can  truly  say  that  my  love  for  the  Princess  de  Ferrare  (for 
I  was  Tasso  for  the  time  being),  and  my  noble  and  proud 
feelings  towards  her  unjust  brother,  made  the  night  a  hun- 
dred times  more  delicious  to  me  than  I  would  have  found  it 
in  the  arms  of  the  Princess  herself.  There  remained  next 
morning  in  my  head  but  a  very  small  portion  of  what  I  had 
composed  ;  yet  this  little,  all  but  effaced  by  weariness  and 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VII.     114.3 — 1744.  23 

sleep,  was  marked  by  energy  enough  to  show  the  quality  of 
the  original  passages. 

But  I  did  not  at  this  time  go  very  far  with  the 
work,  as  other  matters  came  along  to  turn  me  aside 
from  it.  Whilst  I  was  devoting  myself  io  the  Dupin 
family,  Madam  de  Beuzenval  and  Madam  de  Broglie,  whom 
I  continued  to  see  now  and  then,  had  not  forgotten  me. 
The  Count  de  Montaigu,  Captain  of  the  Guards,  had  just 
been  appointed  ambassador  to  Yenice.  He  was  an  ambas- 
sador of  Barjac's  making,  and  to  Barjac  he  assiduously  paid 
his  court.  His  brother.  Chevalier  Montaigu,  Gentilhomme 
de  la  manche  to  the  Dauphin,  was  an  acquaintance  of  these 
two  ladies,  as  also  of  the  Abbd  Alary,  of  the  Academic 
Frangaise,  whom  I  used  to  see  at  times.  Madame  de  Bro- 
glie, learning  that  the  ambassador  was  seeking  a  secretary, 
proposed  me.  Accordingly,  we  entered  into  a  correspon- 
dence. I  asked  a  salary  of  fifty  louis,  a  very  modest  amount 
indeed,  in  a  situation  wherein  one  has  to  make  some  sort  of 
appearance.  The  ambassador  did  not  want  to  give  me 
more  than  a  hundred  pistoles,  leaving  me  to  pay  my  travel- 
ing expenses  myself.  The  proposal  was  ridiculous  ;  we 
could  not  come  to  ternis.  M.  de  Francueil,  who  used 
his  utmost  endeavors  to  prevent  my  going,  carried  the  day. 
I  stayed,  and  M.  de  Montaigu  left,  taking  with  him  another 
person  as  secretary,  a  M.  de  FoUau,  who  had  been  recom- 
mended to  him  by  the  Office  for  Foreign  Affairs.  Scarcely 
had  they  reached  Venice  when  they  quarreled.  FoUau, 
perceiving  he  had  to  do  with  a  madman,  left  him  in  the 
lurch, so  that  M.  de  Montaigu,  having  nobody  except  a  young 
Abbe  of  the  name  of  Binis,  who  wrote  under  the  secretary, 
and  who  was  totally  unfit  to  take  his  place,  had  recourse  to 
me.  The  Chevalier,  his  brother,  a  man  of  mind,  managed 
me  so  well,  giving  me  to  understand  that  there  were  advan- 
tages attached  to  the  place  of  secretary,  that  he  got  me  to 
accept  the  thousand  francs.  I  received  twenty  louis  for  my 
traveling  expenses,  and  set  out 

(1743--n44j.  While  in  Lyons,  I  would  fain  have  gone 
by  the  way  of  Mount  Cenis,  to  pay  a  passing  visit  to  my 
poor  Maman,  but  I  descended  the  Rhone,  and  took  passage 
from  Toulon,  as  well  from  motives  of  economy  and  on  ac- 
count of  the  war,  as  to  obtain  a  passport  from  M.  de  Mire- 


24  rousskad's  coxfessioxs. 

poix,  who  then  held  office  in  Provence,  and  to  whom  I  was 
recommended.  M.  de  Montai^u,  not  being  able  to  do  with, 
out  me,  wrote  letter  after  letter,  pressing  me  to  come  aa 
quick  as  possible.     An  accident  kept  me  back. 

'Twas  the  time  of  the  plague  at  Messina.  The  English 
fleet  had  anchored  there,  and  visited  the  felucca  I  was  on 
board  of.  This  circumstance  subjected  us,  on  our  arrival 
at  Genoa,  after  a  long  and  difficult  voyage,  to  a  quarantine 
of  one-and-twenty  days.  The  passengers  had  the  choice  of 
going  through  it  on  board  or  in  the  lazaretto,  wherein  they 
warned  us  we  would  find  nothing  but  the  four  walls,  as  they 
had  not  had  time  to  fit  it  up.  They  all  chose  the  felucca. 
The  insupportable  heat,  the  confined  space,  the  impossibility 
of  stirring,  together  with  the  vermin,  all  induced  me  to  pre- 
fer the  lazaretto,  at  whatever  risk.  Accordingly,  I  was 
conducted  to  a  huge  two-story  building,  absolutely  empty, 
without  either  window,  bed,  table,  or  chair,  without  even 
so  much  as  a  stool  to  sit  on,  or  a  bundle  of  straw  on  which 
to  lie  down.  They  brought  me  my  cloak,  my  carpet-bag, 
and  my  two  trunks  ;  closed  two  ponderous  doors,  with  huge 
locks,  on  me,  and  I  remained  there,  my  own  master,  free  to 
range  at  pleasure  from  room  to  room,  and  from  story  to  story, 
meeting  everywhere  the  same  solitude  and  the  same  nudity. 

And  yet,  spite  of  all  this,  I  did  not  repent  having  chos- 
en the  lazaretto  rather  than  the  felucca.  Like  a  new 
Robinson  Crusoe,  I  set  to  arranging  matters  against  my 
one-and-twenty  days,  as  I  would  have  done  for  a  life-time. 
To  begin  with,  I  had  the  amusement  of  hunting  for  the  lice 
I  had  caught  in  the  felucca.  When  at  last,  by  dint  of 
changing  my  linen  and  clothes,  I  had  got  myself  into  a 
decent  state  of  cleanliness,  I  proceeded  to  the  fitting  up  of 
the  room  I  had  chosen.  I  made  a  capital  matress  of  my 
vests  and  shirts  ;  my  napkins  I  converted,  by  sewing  them 
together,  into  sheets  ;  my  robe  de  charabre  into  a  counter- 
pane, and  rolling  up  my  cloak,  I  transformed  it  into  a  pil- 
low. I  made  me  a  seat  out  of  one  of  my  trunks  laid  down 
flat,  while  the  other  one,  set  on  end,  answered  all  the  pur- 
poses of  a  table.  I  took  out  some  paper  and  an  ink-stand, 
and  arranged,  library-fashion,  a  dozen  or  so  of  books  I  had 
with  me.  In  a  word,  I  so  distributed  my  resources  that, 
with  the  exception  of  curtains  and  windows,  I  was  almost 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VII.    1743 — 1744.  25 

as  comfortable  in  the  lazaretto,  bare  and  empty  though  it 
was,  as  at  my  Tennis  Court  in  the  rue  Verdolet.  My  meals 
were  served  with  no  small  pomp.  Two  grenadiers,  with 
bayonets  fixed,  escorted  them  in  ;  the  stair-case  was  my 
dining-room,  the  landing-place  stood  me  instead  of  a  table, 
and  I  made  a  seat  out  of  the  lowest  step.  As  soon  as  my 
dinner  was  served  up,  they  rang  a  little  bell,  to  give  me 
notice  to  go  to  table.  Between  meals,  when  I  was  neither 
reading,  nor  writing,  nor  busied  with  my  up-fitting,  I  would 
go  and  take  a  walk  in  the  Protestant  burying-ground,  which 
served  me  as  a  court-yard,  or  else  I  would  mount  up  into  a 
turret  which  overlooked  the  harbor,  and  whence  I  could  des- 
cry the  ships  entering  and  deptirting.  I  passed  fourteen 
days  after  this  fashion,  and  would  have  gone  through  the 
whole  term  without  the  least  weariness,  had  not  M.  de  Join- 
ville,  the  French  envoy,  to  whom  I  dispatched  a  letter, 
vinegared,  perfumed,  and  half-burned,  abridged  my  time  by 
eight  days.  These  I  went  and  passed  at  his  house,  where, 
I  must  confess,  I  was  in  better  quarters  than  I  had  been  in 
the  lazaretto.  He  was  extremely  kind  to  me.  Dupont,  his 
secretary,  a  capital  fellow,  introduced  me  to  several  families, 
as  well  in  Genoa  as  round  the  country,  where  we  had  a 
glorious  time  of  it,  and  I  formed  an  acquaintance  and  com- 
menced a  correspondence  with  him,  which  we  kept  up  for 
a  considerable  time.  I  continued  my  journey  agreeably 
through  Lombardy.  I  saw  Milan,  Verona,  Brescia,  Padua, 
and  at  last  reached  Venice,  impatiently  expected  by  His 
Excellency  the  Ambassador. 

On  my  arrival,  I  found  piles  of  dispatches,  as  well  from 
court  as  from  other  ambassadors,  the  ciphered  part  of  which 
he  had  not  been  able  to  read,  albeit  he  had  all  the  ciphers 
necessary  therefor.  Never  having  had  any  experience  in  an 
office,  nor  seen  a  ministerial  cipher  in  my  life,  I  was  at  first 
apprehensive  of  meeting  with  some  embarrassment,  but  I 
soon  found  that  nothing  could  be  simpler,  and  in  less 
than  eight  days  I  had  deciphered  the  whole,  a  task 
which  assuredly  was  hardly  worth  the  trouble,  for,  aside 
from  the  fact  that  the  Venitian  embassy  is  a  very  inac- 
tive affair,  it  was  not  to  such  a  man  as  M.  de  Mon- 
taigu  that  Government  would  entrust  a  negotiation 
of  even  the  most  trifling  importance.  He  had  been  in  a 
II.  2 


26  Rousseau's  confessions. 

terrible  embarrassment  until  my  arrival,  neither  knowing 
how  to  dictate,  nor  how  to  write  legibly.  I  was  very  use- 
ful to  him  ;  this  he  felt,  and  so  treated  me  well.  To  this 
he  was  also  induced  by  another  motive.  Since  the  time  of 
M.  de  Fronlay,  his  predecessor,  whose  head  had  got  derang- 
ed, the  French  Consul,  named  M.  Blond,  had  remained 
Charge  des  Affairs  of  the  embassy,  and,  after  the  arrival  of 
M.  de  Montaigu,  had  continued  to  discharge  the  duties, 
until  he  had  put  him  on  the  track.  M.  de  Montaigu,  jealous 
of  another  man's  taking  his  place,  though  himself  completely 
incapable  of  filling  it,  conceived  a  spite  against  the  Consul, 
and  just  as  soon  as  I  had  arxived,  he  deprived  him  of  his 
functions  of  secretary  to  the  embassy,  and  gave  them  to  me. 
They  were  inseparable  from  the  title,  so  he  told  me  to  take 
it.  As  long  as  I  remained  with  him,  he  never  sent  any  per- 
son, except  myself,  to  the  senate  and  to  his  conference  ; 
and  it  was,  upon  the  whole,  very  natural  that  he  should 
prefer  as  secretary  to  the  embassy  a  person  in  his  service 
to  a  consul  or  a  clerk  of  the  bureaus,  nominated  by  the  court. 

This  rendered  my  situation  quite  pleasant,  and  prevent- 
ed his  'Gentlemen,'  who,  as  well  as  his  pages  and  the  greater 
part  of  his  suit,  were  Italians,  from  disputing  the  precedence 
with  me  in  his  house.  I  made  a  good  use  of  the  authority 
attached  to  the  title,  by  maintaining  his  right  of  protection, 
that  is,  the  freedom  of  his  quartier  against  the  attempts  sev- 
eral times  made  to  infringe  upon  it,  and  which  his  Veuitiaa 
ofl&cers  made  no  efi'ort  to  resist.  But  neither,  on  the  other 
hand,  did  I  ever  suffer  it  to  become  a  refuge  for  banditti, 
although  this  would  have  procured  me  advantages  whereof 
His  Excellency  would  have  been  nothing  loath  to  take  his 
share. 

He  even  went  so  far  as  to  claim  a  part  of  the  dues  of 
the  secretaryship,  called  the  chancellerie.  It  was  in  time  of 
war  ;  consequently  there  were  quite  a  number  of  passports 
issued.  Each  of  these  passports  brought  in  a  sequin  to  the 
secretary  who  made  it  out  and  countersigned  it.  My 
predecessors  had  all  of  them  required  this  sequin  from  every 
person  without  distinction,  as  well  from  Frenchmen  as  from 
foreigners.  I  looked  upon  this  usage  as  being  unjust,  and, 
though  not  a  Frenchman  myself  I  abolished  it  in  favor  of 
the  Fi-eiich  ;  but  I  exacted  my  due  from  every  body  else  so 


ERIOD  II.    BOOK  VII.      1143 — 1144  27 

rigorously,  that  the  Marquis  de  Scottl,  brother  of  the 
Queen  of  Spain's  favorite,  having  sent  for  a  passport  with- 
out sending  me  the  sequin,  I  dispatched  a  messenger  demand- 
ing it — a  piece  of  boldness  the  vindictive  Italian  never  for- 
got. As  soon  as  the  reform  I  had  instituted  in  the  tax  on 
passports  became  known,  crowds  of  pretended  Frenchmen 
presented  themselves,  making  their  requests  in  their  abomi- 
nable gibberish,  some  calling  themselves  Provencals, 
others  Picardans,  others  again  Burguudians.  My  ear  being 
rather  fine,  they  could  not  succeed  in  duping  me,  and  I 
doubt  that  a  single  Italian  ever  cheated  me  out  of  my 
sequin,  or  that  a  Frenchman  ever  had  to  pay  it.  I  was 
fool  enough  to  tell  M.  de  Moutaigu,  who  knew  nothing 
whatever  of  the  matter,  what  I  had  done.  He  pricked  up 
his  ears  at  the  word  sequin,  and  without  pronouncing  any 
opinion  touching  the  abolition  of  the  tax  on  Frenchmen, 
he  pretended  that  I  ought  to  enter  into  account  with  him 
for  the  others,  promising  me  equivalent  advantages.  More 
filled  with  indignation  at  the  man's  meanness,  than  concern- 
ed for  my  own  interest,  I  haughtily  rejected  his  proposal. 
He  insisted,  and  I  grew  warm.  "  No,  sir,"  said  I  to  him 
quite  sharply,  "  Your  Excellency  may  keep  what  belongs  to 
you,  and  I'll  keep  what  belongs  to  me  :  I'll  never  suffer 
you  to  touch  a  cent  of  it."  Perceiving  that  nothing  was 
to  be  gained  in  this  way,  he  had  recourse  to  other  means 
and  blushed  not  to  tell  me  that,  as  I  derived  profit  from 
his  chancclkrk,  it  was  but  just  that  I  should  pay  the  expen- 
ses incident  thereto.  Having  no  mind  to  wrangle  on  this 
head,  I  from  that  time  forth  furnished  from  my  own  pocket, 
paper,  ink,  wax,  tape,  wax  candles,  even  to  a  new  seal, 
without  his  ever  re-imbursing  me  to  the  amount  of  a 
farthing.  This,  how^ever,  did  not  prevent  my  giving  a  small 
share  of  the  produce  of  the  passports  to  the  Abbe  de  Binis, 
a  good  soul,  and  a  person  the  farthest  in  the  world  from  pre- 
tending to  anything  of  the  kind.  If  he  was  obliging  to  me, 
I  was  no  less  kind  and  civil  to  him,  and  we  always  got  along 
well  together. 

On  first  trying  my  hand  at  my  duties,  I  found  them  much 
less  embarrassing  than  I  had  anticipated,  considering  my  in- 
experience, taking  into  account  too,  that  the  Ambassador  had 
no  more  than  myself,  and  further,  that  his  ignorance  and  obsti- 


28  Rousseau's  confessions. 

nacy  were  at  any  moment  liable  to  counteract  whatever  my 
common  sense  and  any  information  I  chanced  to  possess  in- 
spired me  with  for  his  service  and  that  of  the  king.    The  most 
rational   thing    he  did  was   to  connect   himself   with   the 
Marquis  de  Mari,  the  Spanish  Ambassador,  an  adroit,  keen 
man,  who  might  have  led  him  by  the  nose,  had  he  so  wished  ; 
but  who,  considering  the  union  of  interests  between  the  two 
crowns,  generally  gave  him  pretty  good  advice,  had  not  the 
other  spoiled  his  counsels  by  mtruding  some  of  his  own  notions 
into  their  execution.     The  sole  matter  they  had  to  do  in 
concert   was   to   engage   the   Veuitians   to   maintain   the 
neutrality.     These   did  not  fail  to  make  protestations  of 
their  fidelity  in  its  observance,  while  they  were  at  the  same 
time,  publicly  furnishing  ammunition  to  the  Austrian  troops, 
and  even  sending  recruits  under  pretence  of  desertion.     M. 
de  Montaigu,  who  I  think  wished  to  please  the  Republic, 
failed  not  also,  in  spite  of  all  my  representations,  to  make 
me  assure  the  government,  in  all  his  dispatches,  that  the 
VenitiaDS  would  never  violate  an  article  of  the  neutrality. 
The  obstinacy  and  stupidity  of  the  poor  man  were  constantly 
forcing  me  to  say  and  do  extravagant  things,  whereof,   in- 
deed, I  was  compelled  to  be  the  agent,  since  so  he  would 
have' it,  but  which  at  times  rendered  my  duties  insupport- 
able, nay,  all  but  impracticable.     For  instance,  he  would 
persist  in  having  the  greater  part  of  his  dispatches  to  the 
king  and  the  ministry  in  cipher,  though  there  was  absolutely 
nothing  in  any  of  them  that  required  this  precaution.     I 
represented  to  him  that  between  Friday,  when  the  court 
dispatches  arrived,  and  Saturday,  when  ours  were  sent  off, 
there  was  not  time  enough  to  write  so  much  in  cipher  along 
with  the  heavy  correspondence  with  which  I  was  charged 
for   the  same  courier.     To  remedy  this,  he  found  out  an 
admirable  expedient— namely,  to  have  the  answers  to  the 
dispatches   made  up  from  over  Thursday,  that  is,  a  day 
before  they  came  !     This  idea  struck  him  as  so  felicitous  that, 
spite  of  all  I  could  say  to  him  as  to  the  impossibility,  the 
absurdity  of  its  execution,  I  was  obliged  to  submit  ;  and 
during  the  whole  time  I  remained  with  him,  after  having 
takeir  note  of  a  word  he  dropped  now  and  then  in  the 
course  of  the  week,   and  of   any  trifling  items  of  news  I 
might  chance  to  pick  up  in  the  course  of  my  rambles— pro- 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  VII      ItiS llii.  29 

vided  with  this  material  alone,  I  never  once  failed  to  bring 
him  on  Thursday  a  rough  draft  of  the  dispatches  that  were 
to  be  sent  off  on  Saturday,  excepting  only  certain  additions 
or  corrections  I  hastily  made  ou  the  arrival  of  Friday's 
dispatches,  to  which  ours  served  as  answers.  Another 
very  comical  dodge  of  his — a  custom  that  made  his  corres- 
pondence ridiculous  beyond  conception — was  to  send  back 
each  piece  of  news  to  its  source,  instead  of  having  it  go  the 
regular  round.  To  M.  Amelot  he  transmitted  the  news  of 
the  court,  to  M.  de  Maurepas  the  Parisian  intelligence,  to 
M.  d'Havrincourt  that  of  Sweden,  to  M.  de  la  Chetardie 
that  of  Petersburg,  and  sometimes  to  each  of  them  the  very 
items  they  had  sent  us,  and  which  I  dressed  up  in  somewhat 
different  terras.  As  he  read  nothing  I  brought  him  to  sign 
except  the  court  dispatches,  signing  the  others  without 
even  looking  at  them,  I  was  left  at  greater  liberty  to  give 
what  turn  I  thought  proper  to  the  latter,  so  that  I  could 
at  least  cross  the  news.  It  was,  however,  impossible  to  put 
a  rational  face  on  the  important  dispatches  ;  and  indeed, 
I  was  only  too  happy  when  he  did  not  take  it  into  his 
head  to  cram  in  a  few  of  his  impromptu  lines,  thus  compel- 
ling me  to  return  in  haste  and  transcribe  the  whole 
dispatch,  decorated  with  the  new  drivel  which  had,  of 
course,  to  receive  the  honor  of  the  cipher,  otherwise  he 
would  not  have  signed  it.  I  was  scores  of  times  tempted, 
for  the  sake  of  his  reputation,  to  cipher  something  different 
from  what  he  told  me,  but,  feeling  that  nothing  could 
authorize  such  an  infidelity,  I  let  him  rigmarole  at  his  own 
risk,  satisfied  with  speaking  straightforwardly  to  him,  and 
discharging  at  my  own  peril  my  duties  towards  him. 

And  discharge  them  I  ever  did  with  an  uprightness,  a 
zeal,  and  a  courage  that  deserved  a  quite  other  reward 
than  what  I  ultimately  got  from  him.  Tlie  time  had  come 
for  me  to  become  for  once  what  heaven,  which  liad  endowed 
me  with  a  happy  disposition,  what  the  education  I  had 
received  from  the  best  of  women,  and  the  culture  I  had 
given  myself,  had  prepared  me  for.  And  I  did  so.  Left 
to  my  own  guidance,  without  friends,  without  advice,  with- 
out experience,  in  a  foreign  country,  in  the  service  of  a 
foreign  nation,  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of  rascals,  who,  as 
well  for  their  own  interest  and  to  escape  the  reprimand  of 


30  Rousseau's  confessions. 

a  good  example,  endeavored  to  prevail  npon  me  to  imitate 
them.  Far  from  doing  any  thing  of  the  kind,  I  served  France 
faithfully,  to  which  I  owed  nothing,  and  the  Ambassador 
better  still,  as  it  was  but  right  I  should  do  to  the  utmost  of 
my  power.  Irreprochable  in  a  post  open  enough  to  censure, 
I  merited,  and  I  obtained,  the  esteem  of  the  Republic,  that 
of  the  Ambassadors  with  whom  we  were  in  correspondence, 
and  the  affection  of  all  the  French  residing  in  Venice,  not 
excepting  even  the  Consul  himself  whom  I  with  regret  sup- 
planted in  the  functions  which  I  knew  properly  belonged 
to  him,  and  which  occasioned  me  more  embarrassment  than 
they  afforded  me  pleasure.  M.  de  Montaigu,  confiding  un- 
reservedly in  the  Marquis  de  Mari,  who,  of  course,  could 
not  enter  into  the  detail  of  his  various  duties,  neglected 
them  to  such  a  degree  that,  without  me,  the  French  that 
were  at  A^enice,  would  not  have  perceived  that  there  was 
such  a  person  as  an  Ambassador  of  their  own  nation  in  the 
city.  Constantly  put  off  without  being  heard  when  they 
stood  in  need  of  his  protection,  they  gave  up  all  hope  of 
obtaining  their  rights,  and  no  longer  appeared  either  in  his 
company  or  at  his  table,  to  which,  indeed,  he  never  invited 
them.  I  often  did  myself  what  it  was  his  duty  to  have 
done,  rendering  the  French  who  had  recourse  to  him  or  to 
me  all  the  service  in  my  power.  In  any  other  country  I 
would  have  done  more  than  this  ;  but  not  being  able  to  fee 
any  person  in  my  place  on  account  of  my  engagement,  I 
was  often  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  the  Consul  ;  and 
the  Consul,  settled  in  the  country  with  his  family  along 
with  him,  had  prudential  considerations  to  look  after  that 
not  uufrequeutly  prevented  him  from  doing  what  he 
otherwise  would  have  done.  Sometimes,  however,  when 
he  wavered,  not  daring  to  speak  decisively,  I  ventured  on 
hazardous  measures,  which  often  proved  successful.  I 
recollect  one,  the  remembrance  of  which  still  calls  up  a 
smile.  Lovers  of  the  stage  might  not  be  very  apt  to  sus- 
pect that  it  is  to  me  they  owe  Coralline  and  her  sister 
Camille  ;  yet  such  is  the  fact.  Yeroneso,  their  father,  had, 
alon""  with  his  children,  entered  into  an  engagement  with 
the  Italian  Com})any  ;  and,  after  having  received  two 
thousand  francs  for  his  travelling  expenses,  instead  of  set- 
tiurr  out,  had  coolly  settled  down  performing  at  Venice,  in 


PERIOD  11.    BOOK  VII.     1743 — 1744.  31 

Saint  Luke's  theatre,*  whither  Coralline,  though  a  mere 
child,  drew  immense  crowds.  The  Duke  de  Gesvres,  as 
first  Gentleman  of  the  Chamber,  wrote  to  the  Ambassador, 
claiming  father  and  daughter.  M.  de  Moataigu,  handing 
me  the  letter,  confined  his  instructions  to  observing,  Voyez 
cda — See  to  that.  I  went  to  M.  Le  Blond  and  requested 
him  to  speak  to  the  patrician  to  whom  Saint  Luke's  thea- 
tre belonged,  one  Zustiniani  I  think,  and  get  him  to  dis- 
charge Yeronese,  who  was  engaged  in  the  King's  service. 
Le  Blond,  who  had  no  great  taste  for  the  commission, 
managed  it  badly,  Zustiniani  put  him  off,  and  Veronese 
was  not  discharged.  I  was  piqued.  It  was  during  the 
carnival  ;  so,  having  assumed  the  bahute  and  mask,  I  or- 
dered them  to  row  me  to  the  palace  of  Zustiniani.  Those 
who  saw  my  gondola  enter  with  the  livery  of  the  Ambas- 
sador were  struck  with  amazement  ;  Venice  had  never 
seen  the  like  of  it.  I  walked  in,  causing  myself  to  be  an- 
nounced as  una  siora  masckera.  Immediately  on  being  in- 
troduced, I  took  off  my  mask  and  gave  my  name.  The 
Senator  turned  pale  and  remained  stupified  with  surprise. 
"  Sir,"  said  I  to  him  in  Venitian,  "  I  regret  to  trouble 
Your  Excellency  with  this  visit ;  but  you  have  in  your 
theatre  of  Saint  Luke  a  man  named  Veronese  who  is  en- 
gaged in  the  King's  service,  and  whom  you  have  been 
requested,  but  in  vain,  to  give  up  :  I  come  to  claim  him  in 
his  Majesty's  name."  My  short  harangue  was  effectual. 
Scarcely  had  I  left  than  my  man  hastened  off  to  render 
account  of  his  adventure  to  the  State  Inquisitors,  who  gave 
him  a  severe  reprimand.  Veronese  got  his  discharge  that 
same  day.  I  gave  him  notice  that  if  he  was  not  off  within 
a  week,  I  would  have  him  arrested.     He  left. 

On  another  occasion,  by  my  own  tact  and  almost  wit'n- 
out  the  concurrence  of  anybody  else,  I  got  a  Captain  of  a 
merchantman  out  of  trouble.  The  name  of  him  was  Cap- 
tain Olivet  of  JNIarseilles  ;  the  vessel's  name  I  have  for- 
gotten. His  crew  had  got  into  a  row  with  certain  Sclaves 
in  the  service  of  the  Republic  :  violence  had  been  done, 
and  the  vessel  had  been  put  under,  such  severe  embargo 
that   nobody,  except  the   Captain,  was   allowed  to  go  on 

*  I  am  in  doubt  whether  it  was  not  Saint  Samuel's.  Propel 
names  infallibly  escape  my  memory. 


32  ROUSSKAU's  CONFESSIONS. 

board  or  ashore  without  a  special  permit.  He  had  recourse 
to  the  Ambassador,  who  sent  him  about  his  business.  He 
then  applied  to  the  Consul,  who  told  him  that  it  was  not  a 
commercial  affair,  and  that  he  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it.  Completely  nonplussed,  he  came  to  me.  I  re- 
presented to  M.  de  Montaigu  that  he  ought  to  permit  me 
to  present  a  memorial  touching  the  matter  to  the  Senate. 
Whether  he  allowed  me  to  do  so,  and  I  presented  the 
memorial,  I  do  not  remember  ;  but  I  recollect  very  well  that 
the  steps  I  took  proved  futile,  and,  the  embargo  still  con- 
tinuing, I  pursued  another  plan,  which  proved  completely 
successful.  I  inserted  an  account  of  the  aifair  in  a  dispatch 
to  M.  de  Maurepas;  and,  by  the  way,  I  had  trouble  enough 
in  getting  M.  de  Montaigu  to  suffer  this  article  to  pass. 
I  knew  that  our  dispatches,  though  hardly  worth  the 
trouble  of  being  opened,  were  so  at  Venice,  whereof  I  had 
proof  in  the  articles  I  found  copied  word  for  word  into  the 
gazette — a  piece  of  treachery  whereof  I  had  uselessly  at- 
tempted to  get  the  Ambassador  to  complain.  My  object 
in  speaking  of  this  matter  in  the  dispatch  was  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  their  curiosity  to  frighten  them  into  releasing 
the  vessel  ;  for  had  we  had  to  wait  for  the  answer  from 
court  in  order  to  effect  our  purpose,  the  Captain  would 
have  been  ruined  before  its  arrival.  I  went  farther  :  I 
visited  the  vessel  to  question  the  crew.  I  took  along  with 
me  the  Abbe  Patizel,  Chancellor  of  the  Consulate,  who 
would  rather  have  been  excused,  so  afraid  were  the  poor 
creatures  of  displeasing  the  Senate.  Not  being  able  to  go 
on  board  on  account  of  the  embargo,  I  remained  in  my 
gondola,  and  there  arranged  my  proces-verbal,  interrogat- 
ing with  a  loud  voice  each  of  the  crew  in  succession,  and 
directing  my  questions  so  as  to  elicit  answers  favorable  to 
them.  I  tried  to  prevail  on  Patizel  to  put  the  questions 
and  take  the  depositions  himself,  which,  indeed,  was  more 
his  business  than  mine.  He  would  not  consent,  however, 
nay,  would  not  say  a  single  word,  and  would  hardly  sign 
the  proces-verbal  after  me.  This  rather  bold  step  proved 
entirely  successful,  and  the  vessel  was  released  a  long 
while  before  the  Minister's  answer  came  to  hand.  The 
Captain  wanted  to  make  me  a  present.  Without  seeming 
at  all   offended,  I   tapped  him  on  the   shoulder,  saying. 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VII.     1143 — 1744.  33 

"  Captain  Olivet,  do  you  think,  my  good  fellow,  that  a 
man  that  will  not  take  from  the  French  an  established  per- 
quisite, is  exactly  the  person  to  sell  the  king's  protec- 
tion ?  "  He  insisted,  however,  on  giving  me  a  diimer  ou 
board  his  vessel.  This  I  accepted,  inviting  along  with  me 
the  secretary  of  the  Spanish  embassy,  named  Carrio,  a 
talented  and  very  agreeable  man,  who  was  afterwards 
secretary  to  the  embassy  and  Charge  d'Affaires  at  Paris, 
and  with  whom  I  formed  an  intimate  connection,  after  tho 
example  of  our  Ambassadors. 

Happy  had  I  been  if,  when  in  the  most  disinterested  man- 
ner I  was  doing  all  the  good  I  could,  I  had  been  able  to  man- 
age those  little  details  with  sufficient  order  and  attention,  so  as 
not  to  be  the  dupe  of  people,  and  serve  others  at  my  own  ex- 
pense !  But  in  situations  like  to  that  I  filled,  where  the  most 
trivial  mistakes  are  not  without  consequence,  I  exhausted  all 
my  attention  in  avoiding  anything  that  might  be  detrimental 
to  the  government  in  whose  service  I  was  employed.  Till  the 
last,  I  managed  everything  relative  to  my  essential  duty 
with  the  utmost  order  and  exactitude.  Saving  certain  er- 
rors a  forced  precipitation  caused  me  to  commit  in  trans- 
lating into  cipher,  and  of  which  the  clerks  of  M.  Amelot 
once  complained,  neither  the  Ambassador  nor  anybody  else 
had  ever  once  to  reproach  me  with  negligence  in  any  one  of 
my  functions — a  circumstance  I  esteem  note-worthy  in  a 
man  as  careless  and  dull-headed  as  myself.  And  yet  I  at 
times  forgot,  or  was  careless  of  the  private  matters  I  took 
in  hand,  though  my  love  of  justice  always  impelled  me  to 
take  on  myself  the  consequences  of  my  own  acts,  before 
anybody  thought  of  complaining.  I  will  mention  but  a 
single  circumstance  of  this  nature  :  it  took  place  close  on 
my  departure  for  Paris,  and  I  afterwards  felt  the  effects 
of  it  in  Paris. 

Our  cook,  whose  name  was  Rousselot,  had  brought 
from  France  an  old  note  for  two  hundred  francs,  which  a 
hair-dresser,  a  friend  of  his,  had  taken  from  a  noble  A^eni- 
tian,  called  Zanetto  Nani,  in  payment  for  wigs  received 
from  him.  Rousselot  brought  me  the  bill  and  requested 
me  to  try  and  get  something  for  it  by  way  of  ac- 
commodation. I  know,  and  he  knew  also,  that  it  is  the 
constant  custom  of  noble  Venitians,  on  returning  to  their 

2* 


34  roussead's  confessions. 

own  country,  never  to  pay  the  debts  they  contract 
abroad.  When  you  attempt  to  bring  them  to  payment, 
they  wear  out  the  unhappy  creditor  with  such  protracted 
delays  and  such  heavy  expenses,  that  the  poor  fellow  gives 
up  in  despair  or  disgust,  and  ends  by  letting  the  whole 
thing  go,  or  else  compounds  for  the  most  trifling  sum.  I 
begged  M.  Le  Blond  to  speak  to  Zanetto.  He  acknowl- 
edged the  note,  but  was  not  quite  so  accommodating  as  to 
its  payment.  By  dint  of  dunning,  however,  he  at  last 
promised  three  sequins.  When  Le  Blond  carried  him  the 
note,  the  three  sequins  had  not  got  themselves  ready. 
Well,  while  waiting  till  they  were,  my  quarrel  with  the 
Ambassador  came  on,  and  1  left  his  service.  I  left  the 
papers  of  the  embassy  in  the  most  scrupulous  order,  but 
Rousselot's  note  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  M.  Le  Blond 
assured  me  he  had  given  it  back  to  me.  I  knew  him  to  be 
too  honest  a  man  to  doubt  his  word,  and  yet  it  was  im- 
possible for  me  to  remember  what  had  become  of  the  note. 
As  Zanetto  had  acknowledged  the  debt,  I  requested  M.  Le 
Blond  to  try  and  get  the  three  sequins  out  of  him  on  a 
receipt,  or  to  prevail  upon  him  to  give  a  duplicate  of  the 
note.  But  Zanetto,  getting  wind  that  the  note  was  lost, 
would  do  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  I  offered  Rousselot 
the  three  sequins  out  of  my  own  pocket,  in  acquittance  of 
the  note.  He  refused  it,  and  told  me  I  might  settle  the 
matter  with  the  creditor  at  Paris,  whose  address  be  gave 
me.  The  hair-dresser,  on  hearing  what  had  passed,  would 
have  either  his  note  or  the  whole  sum.  What  would  I  not 
have  given,  in  my  indignation,  to  have  recovered  the  cursed 
bit  of  paper  !  I  j^aid  the  two  hundred  francs,  and  that, 
too,  during  my  greatest  distress.  And  so  the  loss  of  the 
note  brought  the  creditor  the  payment  of  the  whole 
amount,  whereas  had  it,  unfortunately  for  him,  been  found, 
he  would  have  had  hard  work  in  recovering  the  ten 
crowns  promised  by  his  Excellency  Zanetto  Naui. 

The  talent  I  thought  myself  possessed  of  for  my  employ- 
ment made  the  discharge  of  its  functions  a  matter  of  satis- 
faction, and  with  the  exception  of  the  company  of  my  friend 
Carrio  and  the  virtuous  Altuna,  of  whom  I  shall  soon  have 
occasion  to  speak,  aside  from  the  very  innocent  recreations 
of  the  Place  Saint  Maic,  those  of  the  theatre,  and  a  few 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  VII.      1743 — 11-14.  35 

visits  that  we  almost  always  made  together,  my  sole 
pleasures  lay  in  iny  duties.  Although  these  were  not  very 
severe,  especially  with  the  aid  of  the  Abbe  de  Binis,  yet  as 
our  correspondence  was  quite  extensive,  and  we  were  then 
in  the  time  of  war,  I  had  enough  to  keep  me  reasonably 
busy.  I  applied  myself  to  business  the  greatest  part  of  the 
morning,  and  on  the  days  when  the  courier  arrived  some- 
times even  till  midnight.  The  rest  of  my  time  I  devoted  Lo 
the  study  of  the  profession  I  had  commenced  and  in  which, 
from  the  success  of  my  beginning,  I  counted  on  being,  in 
course  of  time,  more  advantageously  employed.  In  fact, 
there  was  but  one  voice  with  reference  to  me,  commencing 
with  the  Anibassador  himself,  who  spoke  in  high  terms  of  my 
services,  never  making  a  word  of  complaint  on  that  score,  and 
all  of  whose  subsequent  rage  proceeded  from  the  simple  fact 
that,  having  myself,  on  various  occasions,  complained  to  no 
purpose,  I  at  last  resolved  to  take  my  leave.  The  ambassadors 
and  ministers  of  the  king,  with  whom  we  were  in  correspond- 
ence, complimented  him  on  the  merits  of  his  secretary  in  a  man- 
ner that  might  well  have  been  quite  flattering  to  him,  but 
which,  in  his  damned  head,  produced  a  very  different  effect. 
This  once  happened  on  an  occasion  of  importance,  and  for  this 
he  never  forgave  me.     The  story  is  worth  while  telling. 

He  was  so  incapable  of  enduring  the  least  con- 
straint that  on  Saturday,  the  day  when  the  dis- 
patches to  most  of  the  courts  were  sent  off,  he  could 
not  wait  till  the  work  was  got  through  with  to  go  out, 
but  would  keep  eternally  pestering  me  to  hurry  through  with 
the  dispatches  to  the  king  and  the  ministers,  which  done,  he 
would  hastily  sign  them  and  then  run  off  God  knows  where, 
leaving  most  of  the  other  letters  without  any  signature  what- 
ever— a  way  of  doing  things  that  obliged  me,  when  they  con- 
tained nothing  but  news  to  turn  them  into  bulletins  ;  but 
when  they  concerned  matters  that  had  to  do  with  the  king's 
service,  somebody  had  to  sign  them,  so  I_  did.  This  once 
happened  relative  to  some  important  advices  which  we  had 
just  received  from  M.  Vincent,  Charge  d'Affaires  of  the 
king  at  Venice.  'T  was  during  the  march  of  Prince  Lob- 
kovvitz  to  Naples,  at  the  time  when  Count  de  Gages 
made  that  memorable  retreat — the  finest  military  manoeuvre 
of  the  whole  century,  and  of  which  Europe  took  much  too 


36  Rousseau's  confessions. 

little  notice.  The  dispatch  informed  us  that  a  certain  man, 
a  dscription  of  whose  person  M.  Vincent  sent  us,  had  set 
out  'from  Vienna,  and  was  to  pass  through  Venice. 
whence  he  was  furtively  to  betake  him  to  Abruzzo,  and 
there  stir  up  the  people  against  the  approach  of  the 
Austrians,  In  the  absence  of  His  Excellency  the  Count  de 
Montaigu,  who  concerned  himself  not  in  the  least  about 
anything,  I  forwarded  this  information  to  the  Marquis  de 
I'Hospital  so  opportunely  that  it  is  perhaps  to  that  poor, 
scoffed  at  Jean  Jacques  that  the  house  of  Boui'bon  owes 
the  preservation  of  the  kingdom  of  Naples. 

The  Marquis  de  I'Hospital,  on  returning  thanks  to  hia 
colleague  (which  was  but  right),  alluded  to  his  secretary 
and  the  service  he  had  just  rendered  to  the  common  cause. 
The  Count  de  Montaigu,  who  had  to  reproach  himself  with 
his  negligence  in  the  matter,  took  it  into  his  head  that  he 
smelt  something  sarcastic  in  this  compliment,  and  spoke  of 
it  ill-humoredly  to  me.  I  had  had  occasion  to  act  in  the 
same  manner  with  the  Count  de  Castellane,  Ambassador  at 
Constantinople,  as  with  the  Marquis  de  I'Hospital,  though 
in  a  matter  of  less  importance.  As  there  was  no  other 
conveyance  to  Constantinople  than  by  the  couriers  sent 
from  time  to  time  by  the  Senate  to  its  '  Bayle,'  notice  of 
their  departure  was  sent  to  the  French  Ambassador,  so  as 
to  afford  him  an  opportunity  of  writing  to  his  colleague,  if 
he  so  desired.  This  notice  generally  came  a  day  or  two  in 
advance  ;  but  they  made  so  little  account  of  M.  de  Mon- 
taigu, that  they  put  him  ofl'  with  sending  him  notice,  merely 
for  form's  sake,  an  hour  or  so  in  advance  of  the  departure  of 
tlje  courier — a  circumstance  that  at  times  necessitated  my  wri- 
ting the  dispatch  in  his  absence.  M.  de  Castellane,  in  his  re- 
ply, made  honorable  mention  of  me,  as  did  also  M.  de  Joinville, 
from  Genoa  ; — all  of  which  became  so'many  new  grievances, 

I  confess  I  did  not  let  slip  any  opportunity  of 
making  myself  known,  but  I  must  say  that  I  never 
sought  to  do  so  at  unsuitable  times,  or  in  improper  ways  ; 
and  it  appeared  to  me  but  just  that  if  I  performed  my  duties 
with  lidelity,  I  should  aspire  to  the  reward  due  to  fidelity — 
the  esteem  of  those  capable  of  judging  and  rewarding  it. 
I  will  not  pretend  to  decide  whether  or  no  my  exactiiess  in 
the  performance  of  my  duties  afforded  the  Ambassador  a 


PERIOD  II.    BOOK  vn.    1T43 — 1744.  31 

legitimate  cause  of  complaint  ;  but  I  do  say  that  this  was 
the  sole  cause  he  ever  alleged  up  to  the  day  of  our  separa- 
tion. His  house,  the  regiilatioa  whereof  he  had  never  put 
on  any  orderly  footing,  became  the  resort  of  a  set  of  vile 
scoundrels  :  the  French  were  ill-treated,  while  the  Italians 
took  the  ascendency,  and,  even  among  these,  the  good  and 
honest  servants,  long  attached  to  the  embassy,  were  shame- 
fully discharged,  his  First  Gentleman  in  particular,  who  had 
held  the  same  office  under  Count  de  Froulay,  and  who,  if  I 
remember  right,  was  called  Count  Peati,  or  something  like 
that.  The  Second  Gentleman,  chosen  by  M.  de  Montaigu 
was  a  scoundrel  from  Mantua,  named  Dominique  ;  Vitali  • 
to  him  the  Ambassador  entrusted  the  care  of  his  house. 
By  dint  of  cajolery  and  sordid  parsimony,  this  individual 
managed  to  wheedle  himself  into  his  confidence,  and  became 
his  favorite,  to  the  great  prejudice  of  the  few  honest  people 
he  still  had  about  him,  and  of  the  secretary  who  was  at 
their  head.  The  searching  eye  of  a  man  of  integrity  is 
always  troblesome  to  rogues.  This  was  of  itself  enough  to 
make  the  present  person  feel  an  antipathy  to  me  :  but  to 
this  hatred  there  went  another  cause  which  greatly 
aggravated  its  bitterness.  What  this  cause  was  I  must 
mention.     If  I  was  in  the  wrong,  condemn  me. 

The  Ambassador  had,  as  is  want,  a  box  at  each  of  the 
five  theatres.  It  was  his  custom  every  day  after  dinner  to 
mention  which  he  intended  going  to  ;  I  chose  after  him, 
and  the  Gentlemen  disposed  of  the  other  boxes.  On  going 
out,  I  used  to  take  the  key  of  the  box  I  had  chosen  with 
me.  One  day,  Vitali,  not  being  there,  I  ordered  the  foot- 
man who  waited  off  me,  to  bring  me  mine  to  a  house  I  men- 
tioned. Vitali,  in  place  of  sending  me  the  key,  said  he  had 
disposed  of  it.  I  was  the  more  enr^ed  at  this,  as  the 
footman  brought  back  the  word  and  delivered  the  mes- 
sage before  all  the  company  present,'  In  the  evening 
Vitali  attempted  to  make  some  apology  ;  I  would  not  take 
it.  "  To  morrow.  Sir,"  said  I  to  him,  "  You'll  come  and 
offer  it,  at  such  an  hour,  in  the  same  house  where  I  received 
the  affront  and  before  the  company  that  witnessed  it  ;  or, 
come  what  may,  next  day,  either  you  or  I  leaves  this  house." 
Tliis  decided  tone  intimidated  him.  He  came  to  the  ap. 
pointed  place  at  the  appointed  hour,  and  publicly  apdo 


93367 


38  Rousseau's  confessions 

gized,  with  a  servility  well  worthy  the  fellow.  However, 
he  took  his  measures  at  his  leisure,  and  whilst  cringing  and 
ducking,  he  was  all  the  while  working  away  d  I'italienne, 
and  the  result  was  that,  unable  to  prevail  on  the  Ambassa- 
dor to  give  me  my  dismission,  he  reduced  me  to  the  neces- 
sity of  taking  it. 

A  wretch  like  him  was  certainly  not  the  person  to  know 
my  character,  but  he  was  keen  enough  to  read  through 
whatever  in  my  disposition  might  go  to  further  his  ends  : 
he  knew  that  I  was  mild  and  forbearing  to  a  fault  in  en- 
suring involuntary  wrongs,  haughty  and  impatient  towards 
premeditated  offences,  loving  the  decorous  and  dignified, 
and  not  less  exacting  touching  the  honor  due  to  me,  than 
tender  of  that  of  others.  These  were  the  means  he  em- 
ployed, and  that  successfully,  to  harass  and  torment  me. 
He  turned  the  house  upside  down  and  thwarted  all  I  had 
endeavored  to  do  for  the  maintainance  of  order,  subordina- 
tion and  decency.  A  house  without  a  mistress  stands  in 
need  of  rather  severe  discipline  to  preserve  the  modesty 
inseparable  from  dignity.  He  soon  converted  ours  into  a 
den  of  debauch  and  licentiousness,  the  resort  of  knaves  and 
blackguards.  In  the  place  of  the  person  he  had  got  dis- 
charged, he  succeeded  in  introducing  as  Second  Gentleman 
another  pimp  like  himself,  and  keeper  of  a  public  house  of 
ill-fame  at  the  Croix-de-Malte.  The  indecency  of  these  two 
well-mated  rascals  was  only  equaled  by  their  insolence. 
With  the  single  exception  of  the  Ambassador's  room,  which 
was  not  itsetf  kept  in  extra  good  order,  there  was  not  a 
corner  in  the  house  an  honest  man  could  put  up  with. 

As  his  Excellency  was  not  in  the  habit  of  taking  sup- 
per, the  Gentlemen  and  myself  had,  in  the  evening,  a  private 
table,  at  which  the  Abbe  de  Binis  and  the  pages  also  ate. 
In  the  most  villainous  cook-shop  they  serve  people  with 
more  cleanliness  and  decency,  they  furnish  less  filthy  linen 
and  give  you  better  fare.  We  had  but  one  little,  miserable 
black  tallow-candle,  pewter  plates  and  iron  forks.  Let 
what  took  place  privately  pass  ;  but  they  deprived  me  of 
niy  gondola  :  alone  of  all  the  secretaries  to  the  embassies, 
I  was  forced  to  hire  one  or  to  go  on  foot,  and  I  no  longer 
had  his  Excellency's  livery  excejit  when  I  went  to  the  sen- 
ate.    Besides,  nothing  *■'  ''t  passed  in  the  house  was  un- 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VII.     1743 — 1744.  39 

known  in  the  city.  The  various  officers  of  the  Ambassador 
became  loudly  clamorous,  Dominique,  the  sole  cause  of  it  all, 
louder  than  anybody  else,  well  aware  that  I  was  the  most 
keenly  sensitive  to  the  indecency  with  which  we  were 
treated.  I  alone  in  the  house  said  nothing  about  it  with- 
out ;  but  I  liitterly  complained  to  the  Ambassador  both 
of  the  rest  of  them  and  of  Dominique,  who,  secretly  excited 
by  the  devil  in  him,  put  me  daily  to  some  new  affront. 
Forced  to  spend  largely  in  order  to  keep  on  until  footing 
with  my  corifreres  and  make  an  appearance  suitable  to 
my  situation,  I  could  not  get  a  farthing  of  my  salary  ;  and 
when  I  asked  him  for  money,  he  began  expatiating  on  his 
esteem  and  his  confidence,  just  as  though  these  articles 
would  fill  my  purse  or  get  me  what  I  wanted. 

The  two  scoundrels  at  length  quite  turned  their  master's 
head,  not  naturally  a  very  strong  one,  and  ruined  him  by 
eternally  getting  him  to  make  purchases,  at  the  most  exor- 
bitant prices,  while  they  all  the  while  persuaded  him,  with 
brazen-faced  effrontery,  that  he  was  getting  tremendous 
bargains.  They  got  him  to  rent  a  palazza  upon  the  Bronta 
at  double  its  value,  dividing  the  surplus  with  the  proprietor. 
The  apartments  were  inlaid  with  Mosaic  and  ornamented 
with  columns  and  pilasters  of  very  handsome  marble,  after 
the  fashion  of  the  country.  M.  de  Montaigu  had  all  this 
superbly  masked  by  a  fir  wainscoting,  for  no  other  reason 
in  the  world  than  that  at  Paris  apartments  are  often  thus 
wainscoted.  It  was  for  a  like  reason  that  he,  alone  of  all 
the  Ambassadors  at  Venice,  deprived  his  pages  of  their 
swords,  and  his  footmen  of  their  canes.  Such  was  the  man 
who,  by  an  extension,  it  may  be,  of  the  same  sort  of 
motive,  took  a  dislike  to  me,  simply  because  I  served  him 
faithfully.  / 

I  patiently  endured  his  disdain  and  brutality  and  ill- 
treatment,  as  long  as,  perceiving  them  accompanied  by  ill- 
humor,  they  did  not  seem  to  spring  from  hatred;  but  the  mo- 
ment I  discerned  the  purposely-formed  design  of  depriving  me 
of  the  honor  due  my  faitliful  service,  that  moment  I  resolved 
to  resign  my  employment.  The  first  mark  of  his  ill-will  I  re- 
ceived was  on  the  occasion  of  a  dinner  he  was  to  give  the 
Duke  of  Modena  and  his  family,  then  at  Venice,  and  at 
which  he  signified  to  me  that  I  should  not  be  present. 


40  Rousseau's  confessions. 

Piqued,  but  without  seeming  to  care  anything  about  the 
matter,  I  told  him  that,  having  the  honor  daily  to  dine  at 
his  table,  if  the  Duke  of  Modena  required  my  absence  when 
he  came,  the  dignity  of  his  Excellency,  as  well  as  my  duty, 
would  not  suffer  me  to  consent.  "  How,"  cried  he,  in  a  trans- 
port of  rage,  "  does  my  secretary,  who  is  not  t  gentleman 
himself,pretend  to  dine  with  a  sovereign,  when  my  Gentlemen 
do  not."  "  Yes,  sir,"  answered  I  ;  "  the  post  with  which 
your  Excellency  has  honored  me,  as  long  as  1  fill  it,  so  far 
ennobles  me,  that  my  rank  is  superior  to  your  so-called  Gen- 
tlemen, and  I  am  admitted  where  they  cannot  go.  Yon 
cannot  but  know  that,  on  the  day  you  will  make  your  entry, 
I  shall  be  called,  by  etiquette  and  by  immemorial  usage,  to 
follow  you  in  ceremonial  suit,  and  be  admitted  to  the  honor 
of  dining  along  with  you  in  St.  Mark's  Palace  ;  and  I  do 
not  see  why  a  man,  whose  right  it  is,  and  who  is  going  to 
eat  in  public  with  the  Doge  and  the  Senate  of  Venice, 
should  not  dine  in  private  with  the  Duke  of  Modena." 
Though  the  argument  was  unanswerable,  the  Ambassador 
would  not  give  in.  However,  we  had  no  further  occasion 
to  renew  the  dispute,  as  the  Duke  of  Modena  never  came 
to  dine  with  him. 

Thenceforward  he  did  everything  in  his  power  to  make 
things  disagreeable  to  me,  depriving  me  of  my  rights, 
robbing  me  of  various  little  prerogatives  attached  to  my 
post,  and  bestowing  them  on  his  dear  Yitali  ;  and  I 
am  sure  that,  had  he  dared  'to  send  him  to  the  senate  in  my 
place,  he  would  have  done  so.  He  commonly  employed  the 
Abbe  de  Binis  to  write  his  private  letters  in  his  own  room; 
well,  he  made  use  of  him  to  write  M.  de  Maurepas  an  ac- 
count of  the  affair  of  Captain  Olivet,  in  which,  far  from 
making  the  slightest  mention  of  me,  who  alone  had  been 
concerned  in  the  matter,  he  even  deprived  me  of  the  honor 
of  the  proces-verbal,  whereof  he  sent  him  a  duplicate,  at- 
tributing it  to  Patizel,  who  had  not  once  opened  his  mouth 
in  the  whole  affair.  He  wished  to  mortify  me  and  please 
his  favorite,  but  by  no  means  to  get  rid  of  me.  He  felt 
that  it  would  not  be  exactly  as  easy  to  supply  my  place  as 
it  had  been  to  get  a  successor  for  M.  FoUau,  who  had 
already  made  him  known  to  the  world.  It  was  absolutely 
necessary  that  he  should  have  a  secretary  that  understood 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VII.     1743 — 1144  41 

Italian,  on  account  of  the  replies  from  the  senate  ;  then, 
too,  he  must  be  a  person  that  could  write  all  his  dispatches, 
attend  to  all  his  aifairs,  without  his  giving  himself  the  least 
trouble  about  anything — one  who  to  the  merit  of  serving 
him  faithfully  would  add  the  baseness  of  being  the  toad- 
eater  of  his  low-lived  "  Gentlemen."  He  wanted,  therefore, 
to  retain  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  mortify  me,  keeping  me 
far  from  my  country  and  his  own,  without  money  to  return 
thereto  ;  and  in  this  he  might  perhaps  have  succeeded,  had 
he  gone  about  it  with  moderation.  But  Vitali,  who  had 
other  views,  and  who  wished  to  force  me  to  extremities, 
carried  his  point.  As  soon  as  I  perceived  I  was  wasting 
my  pains,  that  the  Ambassador,  instead  of  being  obliged  to 
me  for  my  services,  looked  on  them  as  so  many  crimes,  that 
I  had  no  longer  aught  to  hope  from  him  save  torture  at 
home  and  injustice  abroad,  and  that,  in  the  general  dises- 
teem  into  which  he  had  fallen,  his  ill-turns  might  prove  pre- 
judicial to  me,  without  the  good  ones  being  of  any  service 
to  me,  I  took  my  resolution,  and  asked  for  my  dismissal, 
allowing  him  time  to  provide  himself  with  a  secretary.  With- 
out answering  either  Yes  or  No,  he  went  on  his  way  as 
usual.  Seeing  that  things  were  going  no  better,  and  that 
he  was  taking  no  measures  to  supply  my  place,  I  wrote  to 
his  brother,  and,  giving  him  a  detailed  account  of  my  mo- 
tives, I  begged  him  to  obtain  my  dismission  from  his 
Excellency,  adding,  that  whether  I  received  it  or  not,  it 
would  be  impossible  for  me  to  remain.  I  waited  a  long 
while,  but  got  no  reply.  I  began  to  be  quite  embarrassed ; 
but  at  last  the  Ambassador  received  a  letter  from  his  bro- 
ther. It  must  have  been  sharp  indeed  ;  for,  albeit  subject 
to  the  most  ferocious  transports  of  rage,  I  never  saw  him 
in  such  a  state.  After  torrents  of  the  most  outrageous  in- 
sults, not  knowing  what  more  to  say,  he  accused  me  of  hav- 
ing sold  his  ciphers.  I  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter,  and 
asked  him,  in  a  sneering  tone,  if  he  deluded  himself  into  the 
idea  that  there  was  a  solitary  man  in  all  Venice  fool  enough 
to  give  a  crown  for  them.  This  set  him  foaming  with  rage. 
He  made  as  if  he  would  call  his  people  to  pitch  me  out  of 
the  window,  as  he  said.  Up  to  this  point,  I  had  been  calm  ; 
but  on  this  threat,  anger  and  indignation  seized  me,  too.  I 
Bprang  to  the  door,  and  after  having  turned  a  button  that 


42  Rousseau's  confessions. 

closed  it  from  within,    "  No,  Count,"  said  I,  coming  towards 
hira,  with  a  grave  step  ;  "  your  servants  shall  have  nothing 
to  do  with  this  matter  ;  please  to  let  it  be  settled  between 
ourselves."     My  action  and  air  calmed  him  in  an  instant,^ 
surprise  and  terror  were  marked  on  his  countenance.    When 
I  saw  that  his  fury  had  abated,  I  bade  him  adieu,  in  a  few 
words  ;  thou,  without  waiting  for  his  answer,  I  went  to  the 
door   again,  passed   out  and  proceeded  across  the  ante- 
chamber, through  the  midst  of  his  servants,  who,  as  usual, 
rose  at  my  presence,  and  who,  I  am  of  the  opinion,  would 
rather  have  lent  their  assistance  against  him  than  against 
me.     Without  going  back  to  my  apartment,  I   instantly 
descended  the  stairs  and  left  the  palace,  never  more  to  enter  it. 
I  hastened  immediately  to  M.  Le  Blond  and  told  him 
what  had  happened.     He  was  but  little  surprised,  for  he 
knew  the  man.     He  kept  me  to  dinner.    This  dinner,  though 
without  any  preparation,  was  a  most  brilliant_  affair.     All 
the  French  of  consequence  at  Yenice  were  at  it :  the  Am- 
bassador had  not  a  solitary  person.     The  Consul  related 
my  case  to  the  company.     The  recital  over,  there  was  but 
one  voice,  and  that  by  no  means  in  favor  of  his  Excellency. 
He  had  not  settled  my  account  nor  paid  me  a  farthing, 
so  being  reduced  to  the  few  louis  I  had  in  my  pocket,  I 
was  extremely  embarrassed  about  my  return  to  France. 
Every  purse  was  opened  to  me.     I  took   twenty  sequins 
from  that  of  M.  Le  Blond  and  as  many  from  that  of  M.  St. 
Cyc^with  whom,  next  to  Le  Blond,  I  was  on  the  most  in- 
timate terms.     The  rest  I  thanked  ;  and  till  my  departure, 
went  to  lodge  with  the  Chancellor  of  the  Consulship,  thus 
giving  the  public  open  proof  that  the  nation  was  not  an  ac- 
comptice  in  the  injustice  of  the  Ambassador.     He,  furious 
at  seeing  me  feted  in  my  misfortune,  while  he,  Ambassador 
though  he  was,  was  quite  forsaken,  completely  lost  his  senses 
and  behaved  like  a  madman.     He  went  so  far  as  to  present 
a  memorial  to  the  senate  urging  that  I  should  be  arrested. 
On  being  informed  of  this  by  the  Abbe  de  Binis,  I  resolved 
to  remaui  a  fortnight  longer,  instead  of  setting  off  the  next 
day,  as  I  had  intendtul.  My  conduct  was  known  and  approved 
of  by  everybody,  and  I  was  universally  held  in  high  esteem. 
The  senate  did  not  even  deign  to  answer  the  Ambassador's 
extravagant  memorial,  but  sent  me  word  that  I  might  re- 


PERIOD  II.   BOOK  VII.  llAB — 1144.         43 

main  in  Venice  as  long  as  I  thought  proper,  without  making 
myself  uneasy  about  the  doings  of  a  madman.  I  continued 
to  see  my  friends  ;  went  to  take  leave  of  the  Spanish  Am- 
bassador, who  received  me  with  the  utmost  politeness,  as 
also  of  Count  Finochietti,  Minister  from  Naples,  whom  I 
did  not  find  at  home  ;  however,  I  wrote  him  a  letter  and 
received  from  him  the  most  obliging  imaginable  reply.  At 
length  I  took  my  departure,  leaving  behind  me,  notwith- 
standing the  embarrassed  state  of  my  funds,  no  other  debts 
than  the  two  loans  of  which  I  have  just  spoken  and  an  ac- 
count of  fifty  crowns  with  a  shopkeeper  of  the  name  of 
Morandi,  which  Carrio  promised  to  pay,  and  which  I  have 
never  returned  him,  although  we  have  frequently  met  since 
that  time.  With  respect  to  the  two  loans,  however,  I  re- 
turned them  very  exactly  the  moment  1  had  it  in  my 
TDOwer. 

But  let  us  not  leave  Venice  without  saying  something 
of  the  celebrated  amusements  of  that  city,  or  at  least  of  the 
very  small  part  I  took  in  them  during  my  residence  there. 
It  has  been  seen  how  little,  in  my  early  life,  I  ran  after  the 
pleasures  of  youth,  or  what  are  called  so.  Nor  did  my  in- 
clinations change  while  at  Venice  ;  however,  my  close  oc- 
cupation, which  would  of  itself  have  prevented  any  change, 
rendered  the  simple  recreations  I  allowed  myself  all  the 
more  agreeable.  The  first  and  most  pleasing  of  all  was  the 
society  of  certain  men  of  merit — M.  Le  Blond,  M.  de  St. 
Cyr,  Carrio,  A-ltuna,  and  a  Forlaa  gentleman  v/hose  name 
I  am  very  sorry  to  have  forgotten,  and  whose  amiable 
memory  I  never  call  to  mind  without  emotion  :  he  was  of 
all  the  men  I  ever  knew  the  one  whose  heart  n)ost  nearly  re- 
sembled my  own.  We  were  also  intimate  with  two  or  three 
Englishmen  of  great  talent  and  information,  who  were,  like 
ourselves,  passionately  fond  of  music.  All  these  gentlemen 
had  their  wives,  their  amies  or  their  mistresses — the 
latter  most  all  women  of  talent,  at  whose  apartments  we 
had  balls  and  concerts.  We  phiyed  also,  but  to  no  great 
extent  ;  a  lively  turn,  talents  and  the  theatres  rendered 
this  amusement  insi[)id.  Play  is  the  resort  of  none  but  men 
whose  time  hangs  heavily  on  their  hands.  I  had  brought 
with  me  from  Paris  the  prejudice  common  to  people  of  that 
city  against  Italian  music,  but  had  at  the  same  time  re- 


44  Rousseau's  confessions. 

ceived  from  nature  that  sensibility  and  niceness  of  discrimi- 
nation which  prejudice  cannot  withstand.  I  soon  acquired 
that  passion  for  Italian  music  with  which  it  inspires  all 
such  as  are  capable  of  appreciating  its  excellence.  In  lis- 
tening to  their  barcarolles,  it  seemed  to  me  as  thouo-h  I  had 
never  before  known  what  singing  was,  and  I  soon  became 
so  fond  of  the  Opera  that,  tired  of  chatting,  eating  or  play- 
ing in  the  boxes,  when  I  wished  but  to  listen,  I  frequently 
withdrew  from  the  company  to  another  part  of  the  theatre, 
where,  quite  alone,  shut  up  in  my  box,  I  would  abandon 
myself,  notwithstanding  the  length  of  the  representation,  to 
the  pleasure  of  enjoying  it  at  my  ease  till  the  conclusion. 
One  evening,  at  the  St.  Chrysostom  theatre,  I  fell  asleep 
and  that  more  profoundly  than  had  I  been  in  my  bed.  The 
loud  and  brilliant  airs  did  not  arouse  me,  and  I  still  slept 
on  ;  but  what  mortal  tongue  can  speak  the  delicious  sen- 
sations excited  by  the  soft  harmony  of  the  angelic  music, 
that  charmed  me  from  sleep.  What  an  awaking,  what 
ravishment,  what  extacy,  when  at  once  I  opened  ears  and 
eyes  !  My  first  idea  was  to  believe  myself  in  Paradise. 
The  ravishing  aria,  which  I  still  recollect  and  shall  never 
forget,  began  thus  : 

Conservami  la  bella 
Che  si  m'accende  il  cor. 

After  this  I  had  a  great  desire  to  have  this  morceau,  so  I 
got  it,  and  I  kept  it  for  a  long  while  ;  but  it  was  not  the  same 
thing  upon  paper  as  in  my  head.  The  notes  were  indeed  there, 
but  it  was  not  the  same  thing.  Never  can  this  divine  composi- 
tion be  executed  save  in  my  mind  as  on  the  evening  it  awoke  me. 

A  kind  of  music  far  superior  to  the  Opera,  in  my 
opinion,  and  which  has  not  its  like  in  all  Italy  nor 
any  where  else  perhaps,  is  that  of  the  Scuole.  The 
Scuole  are  houses  of  cliarity,  established  for  the  education 
of  young  girls  without  fortune,  to  whom  the  Republic  after- 
wards gives  a  portion  either  in  marriage  or  for  the  cloister. 
Among  the  talents  they  cultivate  in  these  young  girls  music 
holds  a  chief  place.  At  the  churches  of  these  four  Scuole, 
every  Sunday  during  vespers,  anthems  with  full  chorus 
and  orchestra,  composed  and  directed  by  the  first  masters 
in  Italy,  are  sung  in  grated  galleries  by  girls,  and  girls  alone, 
not  one  of  whom  is  over  twenty.     I  can  conceive  of  nothing 


PERIOD  11.   BOOK  VII.     1143 — 1744.  45 

more  voluptuous,  nothing  more  touching  than  this  music, — 
the  lavish  wealth  of  art,  the  exquisite  taste  of  the  vocal  parts, 
the  excellency  of  the  voices,  the  perfection  of  the  execution — 
everything  about  these  delicious  concerts  concurs  to  pro- 
duce an  impression  which  though  certainly  not  very  ortho- 
dox, is  one  from  which  I  am  sure  no  heart  is  secure. 

Carrio  and  myself  never  failed  being  present  at  the 
vespers  of  the  Mendicanti ;  and  we  were  not  alone  ;  the 
church  was  always  full  of  amateurs,  and  even  the  Opera 
singers  themselves  attended  so  as  to  form  their  taste  after 
these  excellent  models.  The  only  trouble  was  the  cursed 
iron  grating  which  suffered  nothing  to  escape  but  sounds, 
and  concealed  from  my  sight  those  angels  of  beauty,  from 
whose  divine  lips  alone  such  divine  sounds  could  come.  I 
talked  of  nothing  else.  One  day  I  was  speaking  of  them 
at  M.  Le  Blond's  :  "  if  you  are  really  so  desirous,"  said  he, 
"  of  seeing  these  little  girls,  it  will  be  an  easy  matter  to 
gratify  you.  I  am  one  of  the  administrators  of  the  house 
and  will  invite  you  to  come  and  dine  with  them."  I  gave 
him  no  peace  till  he  had  fulfilled  his  promise.  On  entering 
the  hall  that  contained  these  beauties  I  had  so  longed  to 
see,  I  felt  a  love-fluttering  I  had  never  before  experienced. 
M.  Le  Blond  presented  me  successively  to  those  celebrated 
singers,  whose  names  and  voices  were  all  I  knew  anything 
of.  "  Come,  Sophia,"  .  .  .  she  was  horrid.  "  Come,  Cat- 
tina,"  .  .  she  was  blind  of  one  eye.  "  Come,  Bettina,"  .  . 
she  was  completely  pitted  with  small  pox  !  Scarcely  one  of 
them  was  without  some  striking  deformity.  Le  Blond,  the 
rascal,  laughed  at  my  cruel  surprise.  Two  or  three  of  them, 
however,  were  passable :  these  never  aang'  but  in  the 
choruses  1  I  was  on  the  verge  of  despair.  During  the 
collation,  we  got  into  a  chat  with  them,  and  they  soon 
became  quite  lively.  Ugliness  is  by  no  means  incompatible 
with  inward  grace,  and  I  found  they  possessed  it.  Said  I 
to  myself,  "  They  cannot  sing  as  they  do  without  soul — 
60  soul  they  must  have."  In  short,  I  came  to  look  on  them 
with  so  different  an  eye  that  I  left  the  house  all  but  in  love 
with  every  one  of  the  homely  pusses.  I  had  scarcely 
courage  again  to  attend  their  vespers.  However,  they 
well  made  it  up.  I  still  continued  to  find  their  singing 
delightful  ;  and  so  fully  did  their  voices  transform  their 


46  ROTISSEAU'S  CONFESSIONS. 

persons  that,  in  spite  of  mv  eyes,  I  obstinately  continued 
to  think  them  beautiful.  JJlusic  is  so  cheap  an  affair  in 
Italy  that  it  is  not  worth  while  for  such  as  have  a  taste  in 
that  way  to  deny  themselves  the  pleasure  it  affords.  1 
hired  a  harpsichord,  and,  for  half  a  crown,  got  four  or  five 
performers  toTiometo  my  rooms,  with  whom  I  practiced  once 
a  week,  executing  any  morceaux  that  had  given  me  peculiar 
pleasure  at  the  Opera.  I  also  had  some  symphonies  per- 
formed from  my  Musts  Galantes.  Whether  these  really  pleas- 
ed him  or  he  merely  wished  to  flatter  me,  I  know  not,  but 
the  ballet-master  of  St.  John  Chrysostom's  desired  to  have 
two  of  them,  which  I  had  afterwards  the  pleasure  of  hear- 
ing executed  by  that  admirable  orchestra,  and  which  were 
da°nced  to  by  a  certain  little  Bettina,  a  pretty  and  most 
amiable  girl,  kept  by  a  Spaniard,  M.  Fagoaga,  a  friend  of 
ours.     We  often  went  to  spend  the  evening  with  her.       _ 

But  talking  about  girls,  it  is  not  in  a  city  like  Venice 
that  a  man  abstains.  "  Have  you  nothing  to  confess,"  I 
think  I  hear  somebody  asking,  "  on  this  head?"  "  Yes  ;  I 
have,  indeed,  something  to  say,  and  I  shall  proceed  tothe 
confession  with  the  same  openness  that  has  characterized 
all  my  former  ones.  . 

I  always  had  an  aversion  for  strumpets,  and  at  Venice 
these  were  all  that  were  within  my  reach,  my  situation 
interdicting  my  visiting  among  the  families  of  the  city. 
The  daughters  of  M.^Le  Blond  were  very  amiable,  but 
difficult  of  access,  and  I  had  too  much  respect  for  their 
father  and  mother  ever  once  to  have  the  least  desire  for 

them. 

I  should  have  had  a  much  stronger  inclination  tor  a  young 
lady  named  Mile,  de  Cataneo,  daughter  to  the  Agent  of-^the 
King  of  Prussia,  but  Caixip^was  in  love  with  her,— there 
was  "even  some  talk  of  a  marriage  between  them.  He  was 
in  easy  circumstances,  whilst  I  had  nothing  ;  he  had  a 
salary  of  a  hundred  louis  a  year,  mine  was  not  over  a  hun- 
dred livres ;  and,  apart  from  my  unwillingness  to  go  in  a 
friend's  way,  I  was  perfectly  well  aware  that  in  cities  in 
general,  and  especially  at  Venice,  with  a  purse  so  slenderly 
stocked  as  was  mine,  gallantry  was  out  of  the  question.  1 
had  not  got  over  the  pernicious  practice  of  playing  the  tool 
with  the  necessities  of  nature  ;  and,  too  busily  employed 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  VII.      1*143 — 1744.  41 

forcibly  to  feel  the  wants  arising  from  the  climate,  I  lived 
for  upwards  of  a  year  in  Venice  as  chastlely  asl  had  done 
in  Paris,  and  at  the  end  of  eighteen  months  I  left  it  with- 
out having  ever  approached  women  save  twice.  These  two 
occasions  being  rather  curious  in  their  way,  I  shall  enter 
into  some  little  detail  respecting  them. 

The  first  opportunity  was  procured  me  by  that  honest 
Gentleman  Yitali,  some  little  time  after  the  formal  apology 
I  obliged  him  to  make  me.  The  conversation  at  table 
chanced  to  turn  on  the  amusements  of  Venice.  The  Gen- 
tlemen reproached  me  with  my  indifference  with  regard  to 
the  most  piquant  of  them  all,  yaunting  the  gentillesse  of  the 
Venitian  courtisans,  and  averring  that  there  was  nothing  in 
the  world  to  approach  them.  Dominic  said  I  must  make 
the  acquaintance  of  the  most  amiable  of  them  all,  and  offer- 
ed to  take  me  to  her  apartments,  assuring  me,  I  should  be 
pleased  with  her.  I  laughed  at  this  obliging  offer,  and 
Count  Peati,  a  venerable  old  gentleman,  observed  to  me, 
with  more  candor  than  I  should  have  expected  from  an 
Italian,  that  he  thought  me  too  prudent  to  suffer  myself  to 
be  taken  to  the  girls  by  my  enemy.  I  had,  in  fact,  no  in- 
tention of  going,  no  temptation  to  go ;  and  yet,  notwith- 
standing this,  by  one  of  those  crack-brained  freaks  of 
mine,  I  am  at  a  loss  myself  to  comprehend,  I  was  prevailed 
upon  to  go,  contrary  to  my  inclination,  my  heart,  my  rea- 
son, contrary  even  to  my  will,  solely  from  weakness  and 
through  shame  of  exhibiting  any  mistrust,  and,  as  the  expres- 
-sion  of  the  country  goes,  per  iion  parer  troppo  coglione — 
(not  to  seem  too  green).  The padoana  we  went  to  visit  had 
rather  a  pretty  figure,  she  was  even  handsome,  but  her 
beauty  was  not  of  a  style  that  pleased  me.  Dominic  left 
me  with  her.  I  called  for  sherbet,  and  asked  her  to  sing. 
At  the  end  of  about  half-an-hour  I  was  going  to  take  my 
leave,  placing  a  ducat  on  the  table  ;  but  she  had  the  singu- 
lar scruple  to  refuse  taking  it  till  she  had  earned  it,  and  I 
the  singular  folly  to  remove  her  scruple.  I  returned  to  the 
palace  so  fully  persuaded  that  I  was  pocked,  that  the  first 
thing  I  did  was  to  send  for  the  king's  surgeon,  and  to  ask 
him  for  ptisans.  Nothing  can  equal  the  uneasiness  of  mind 
I  suffered  for  three  weeks,  without  its  being  justified  by  any 
real  inconvenience  or  apparent  sign.     I  could  not  conceivt 


48  Rousseau's  confessions. 

that  it  was  possible  to  enter  the  embrace  of  a  padoana 
with  impunity.  The  surgeon  had  the  greatest  conceivable 
difficulty  in  removing  my  apprehensions  ;  nor  could  he  do 
so  by  any  other  means  than  by  persuading  me  that  I  was 
formed  in  such  a  manner  as  not  to  be  easily  infected  ;  and 
although  I  exposed  myself  less  than  any  man  to  the  experi- 
ment, the  fact  of  my  health's  having  never  suffered  m  the 
least,  is,  in  my  opinion,  a  proof  that  the  surgeon  was  right. 
However,  this  never  made  me  rash  ;  and  if  I  have  really 
received  such  an  advantage  from  nature,  I  can  safely  assert 
that  I  have  never  abused  it. 

My  other  adventure,  though  likewise  with  one  ot  the 
nymphs  was  a  very  different  affair,  as  well  in  its  origin  as  m 
its  effects      I  have  already  said  that  Captain  Olivet  gave 
me  a  dinner  on  board  his  vessel,  and  that  I  took  the  secre^ 
tary  of  the  Spanish  embassy  with  me.     I  expected  a  salute 
of  cannon.     The  ship's  company  was  drawn  up  to  receive 
us  but  not  as  much  as  a  priming  was  burnt,  at  which  1 
was  mortified,    on  account  of  Carrio,   who,  I  perceived, 
was  rather  piqued  at  the  neglect ;  and  it  was  true  that  oa 
board  of  merchantmen  they  tendered  cannon-salutes  to  peo- 
ple of  less  consequence  than  we  were  :  besides,  I  thought  I 
deserved  some  mark  of  respect  from  the  Captain.     I  could 
not  conceal  my  thoughts,  for  this  was  at  all  times  impossible 
to  me  ;  and  although  the  dinner  was  a  very  capital  one 
and  Captain  Olivet  did  the  honors   in  the   best  style,  1 
began  it  in  ill-humor,  eating  but  little,  and  speaking  stillless. 
At  the  first  toast,  I  thought  that  surely  we  should  have 
a  volley     Nothing  of  the  kind.     Carrio,  who  read  what 
passed  within  me,  laughed  at  hearing  me  grumbhng  away 
like  a  child.     Before  dinner  was  half-over,  I  saw  a  gondola 
approach  the  vessel.    "  On  my  word,  sir,"  said  tne  Captain 
to  me  "  take  care  of  yourself,  here's  the  enemy."     I  asked 
him  what  he  meant,  to  which  he  answered  in  a  bantering 
way      The  gondola  made  the  ship's  side,  and  I  observed  a 
rray  youno-  damsel  come  on  board.   She  was  very  coquettishly 
dressed,  and  very  vigorous,  for  in  three  bounds  she  was  m 
the  cabin,  and  was  seated  by  my  side  before  I  had  time  to 
perceive  that  a  cover  was  laid  for  her.     She  was  as  charrn- 
i„g  as  she  was  lively,  a  brunette,  not  over  twenty.     She 
spoke  nothing  but  Italian  ;  her  accent  was  of  itself  enough 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VII.     lT43 — 1144.  49 

to  turn  my  head.  While  chatting  and  eating  away,  she  cast 
her  eyes  on  me,  steadfastly  looked  at  me  for  a  moment,  and 
then  exclaiming,  "  Holy  Virgin!  ah!  my  Bremond,  what  an 
age  it  is  since  I  saw  thee!"  throws  herseff  into  my  arms,  seals 
her  lips  to  mine,  and  presses  me  so  as  almost  to  stifle  me.  Her 
large,  black.  Orient  eyes  darted  flakes  of  flame  into  my  heart; 
and  though  my  surprise  at  first  somewhat  turned  aside  my 
attention,  yet  passion  made  such  rapid  head-way  that,  spite 
of  the  spectators,  the  fair  seducer  was  herself  forced  to 
restrain  me.  I  was  intoxicated — furious.  When  she  saw 
she  had  got  me  to  the  desired  point,  she  became  more 
moderate  in  her  caresses,  though  not  in  her  vivacity  ;  and 
when  she  thought  proper  to  explain  to  us  the  cause,  real 
or  pretended,  of  all  this  ado,  she  said  that  I  was  the  living 
image  of  M.  de  Bremond,  Director  of  the  Customs  at  Tu"- 
cany  ;  that  she  had  turned  this  M.  de  Bremond's  head  with 
love,  and  should  do  so  again  ;  that  she  had  left  him  because 
slie  was  a  fool  ;  that  she  would  take  me  in  his  place  ;  that 
she  would  love  me  because  it  pleased  her  to  do  so  ;  that  I 
must,  for  a  similar  reason,  love  her  as  long  as  it  might  be 
agreeable  to  her  ;  and  that  when  she  should  think  proper 
to  send  me  about  my  business,  I  must  be  patient,  as  her 
dear  Bremond  had  been.  What  was  said  was  done.  She 
took  possession  of  me  as  though  I  had  belonged  to  her  ; 
gave  her  gloves,  fan,  cinda  and  coif  into  my  charge  ;  order- 
ed me  to  go  here  or  there,  to  do  this  or  that,  and  I  obeyed. 
She  bade  me  go  and  send  away  her  gondola,  as  she  intend- 
ed making  use  of  mine,  and  I  went ;  bade  me  rise  and  request 
Carrio  to  take  my  place  beside  her,  as  she  had  something 
to  say  to  him,  and  I  did  so.  They  chatted  together  for 
quite  a  long  while,  in  an  under  tone,— I  let  them.  She 
called  me  back,  and  I  returned.  "  Hark'ee,  Zanetto," 
said  she,  "  I  do  not  want  to  be  loved  after  the  French 
fashion— that's  not  the  thing  :  at  the  first  moment  of  ennui 
get  thee  gone.  But,  I  warn  you,  stay  not  by  the  way." 
After  dinner,  we  visited  the  glass  manufactory  at  Mureno. 
She  bought  a  great  many  little  curiosities,  leaving  us  unce- 
remoniously to  pay  for  them  ;  though  she  gave  away  pre- 
sents all  round  that  cost  a  great  deal  more  than  what 
we  spent.  By  the  indijaference  with  which  she  lavished  her 
money  and  let  us  lavish  ours,  it  was  evident  that  she  made 
II.  .^ 


50  Rousseau's  confessions. 

very  little  account  of  it.  When  she  insisted  on  payment,  I 
do  believe  it  was  more  from  vanity  than  avarice.  She  en- 
joyed the  price  set  on  her  favors. 

In  the  evening  we  accompanied  her  home.  In  the 
midst  of  our  chat,  I  perceived  two  pistols  lying  on  her 
toilet-table.  "  Aha  I "  exclaimed  I,  taking  one  of  them 
up,  "here  is  indeed  a  new-fashioned  work-basket  :  may  I 
inquire  what's  the  use  of  it  ?  I  know  of  other  weapons  of 
yours  that  fire  better  than  these."  After  some  little  ban- 
ter of  this  sort,  she  said  with  a  naive  pride  that  rendered 
her  still  more  charming,  "When  I  am  complaisant  to  per- 
sons I  do  not  love,  I  make  them  pay  for  boring  me— noth- 
ing is  more  just  ;  but  while  enduring  their  caresses,  I  am 
not  going  to  suffer  their  insults,  and  I  would  not  miss  the 
first  man  that  would  attempt  it." 

On  taking    my  leave,    I  made   an   appointment  with 
her  for  the  next  day.     I  did  not  make  her  wait.     I  found 
her  in  vestito  di  coTi/icknza,  in  an  undress  more  than  wan- 
ton, unknown  in   northern  climes,   and  which  I   shall  not 
amuse  myself  in  describing,  albeit  I  recollect  it  but  too  well. 
I  shall   only  remark  that  her  ruffles  and  collar  were  edged 
with  silk  net-work,  ornamented  with  rose-colored  pompons. 
This,  to  my  eyes,  heightened  the  lustre  of  a  most  lovely 
skin.'    I  afterwards  observed  that  it  was  the  fashion  at 
Venice,  and  it  has  so  charming  an  effect,  that  I  am  sur- 
prised it  was  never  adopted   in  France.     I  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  of  the  intoxicating  delights  that  awaited  me. 
I  have  spoken  of  Madam  de  Larnage,  spoken  of  her  m 
the  transports  her  remembrance  still  at  times  stirs  withm 
me  ;  but  how  old,  cold,  ugly  was  she  by  the  side  of  my 
Zulietta  I     Attempt  not  to  imagine  the  charms  and  grace 
of  that  enchanting  girl— fancy  would  toil  after  the  reality 
in  vain.     The  young  virgins  in  a  cloister  are  not  so  fresh; 
the  beauties  of  the  Seraglio  are  less  animated,  thehouris 
of  Paradise  less  engaging.     Never  was  such  intoxicating 
delight  presented  to  the  heart  and  senses  of  mortal  1     Ah  ! 
CDuld  1  but  have  for  a  single  moment  enjoyed  it,  in  all  its 
fullness  and  perfection  1      I  did   enjoy  it,  but  the  charm 
thereof  was  not  there,— I  dulled  the  edge  of  enjoyment  and 
crushed  the  flower,  at  pleasure,  as  it  were.     No  ;   nature 
made  me  not  for  enjoyment.     She  infused  into  my  doomed 


PERIOD  n.     BOOK  VII.     1743 — 1744.  51 

head  the  poison  of  that  ineffable  happiness,  the  longing 
desire  for  which  she  placed  in  my  heart. 

If  there  be  a  circumstance  in  my  life  that  reveals  to  the 
full  the  nature  of  me,  'tis  the  one  I  am  now  about  to 
relate.  The  force  with  which  the  object  of  this  book  is  at 
this  moment  present  to  my  mind,  will  make  me  despise  the 
false  delicacy  that  would  prevent  me  from  this  avowal. 
Whoever  you  may  be  that  would  know  a  man,  dare  to 
read  the  two  or  three  following  pages  :  you  will  become 
fully  acquainted  with  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau. 

I  entered  the  chamber  of  a  courtesan  as  though  it  were 
the  sanctuary  of  love  and  beauty  ;  methonght  I  saw  the 
divinity  of  love  in  her  person.  I  never  could  have  thouglit 
that  without  respect  and  esteem,  it  was  possible  to  feel 
anything  like  what  she  made  me  experience.  Scarcely  had 
I,  in  our  first  familiarities,  discovered  the  worth  and  extent 
of  her  charms  and  caresses,  than,  for  fear  of  prematurely 
losing  the  fruit,  I  was  going  hastily  to  pluck  it.  Suddenly, 
in  place  of  the  ardors  that  devoured  me,  I  felt  a  mortal 
chill  creep  through  my  veins,  my  limbs  trembled  under  me, 
and  I  sat  down  almost  fainting  and  wept  like  a  child. 

Who  can  divine  the  cause  of  ray  tears,  and  of  what 
passed  through  my  head  that  moment  ?  I  said  to  myself  : 
"  This  being  now  in  my  hands,  is  the  chef-d'oeuvre  of  nature 
and  of  love — her  mind,  her  body,  all  is  perfect ;  she  is  as 
good  and  generous  as  she  is  amiable  and  beautiful  ;  princes, 
the  great  ones  of  the  earth  should  be  her  slaves — scepters 
should  be  at  her  feet.  And  yet  there  she  is,  a  poor  pros- 
titute, at  the  mercy  of  the  public :  the  Captain  of  a  mer- 
chantman disposes  of  her  at  will  ;  she  comes  and  throws 
herself  into  my  arms — me,  whom  she  knows  poor  in  this 
world's  wealth,  and  whose  worth,  which  she  knows  noth- 
ing of,  is  naught  to  her.  There  is  some  unfathomable  mys- 
tery here.  Either  my  heart  is  playing  the  fool  with  me, 
fascinating  my  senses  and  making  me  the  dupe  of  a  vile 
drab,  or  it  must  be  that  some  secret  deformity  I  know  not 
of,  destroys  the  effects  of  her  charms,  and  renders  her 
odious  to  those  who  would  otherwise  dispute  with  each 
other  the  possession  of  her."  With  singular  mental  heat 
I  set  to  work,  trying  to  discover  what  this  could  be.  It 
never  once  entered  my  head  that  the  danger  of  disease  could 


52  Rousseau's  confessions. 

have  anything  to  do  with  my  feeling.  The  freshness  of  her 
flesh,  the  brilliancy  of  her  complexion,  the  whiteness  of 
her  teeth,  the  sweetness  of  her  breath,  the  air  of  neatness 
about  her  whole  person,  so  completely  excluded  this  idea 
that,  in  doubt  as  yet  as  to  my  condition  since  my  being 
with  the  padoana,  I  rather  apprehended  that  I  was  not 
stainless  enough  for  her  ;  and  I  am  very  sure  that  my  feel- 
ing did  not  deceive  me. 

These  most  well-timed  reflections  agitated  me  to  such  a. 
degree  as  to  make  me  shed  tears.     ZuUetta,  to  whom  this 
must  have  been,  in  the  circumstances,  quite  a  novel  specta- 
cle, was  at  first  rather  taken  aback  ;  but,  havmg  taken  a 
turn  through  the  room  and  passed  before  her  mirror,  she 
soon  saw,  and  my  eyes  confirmed  it,  that  disgust  had  nothmg 
to  do  with  this  upshot.     She  found  no  grea4;  difBculty  m 
curing  me  and  dispelling  this  little  piece  of  bashfulness  : 
but  just  as  I  was  going  to  swoon  on  that  bosom  which  seemed 
for  the  first  time  to  suffer  the  lips  and  hands  of  a  man,  I 
perceived  that  she  had  a  withered  breast.     I  struck  ray 
forehead,  examined,  and  thought  I  perceived  that  the  con- 
formation of  this  breast  was  not  like  the  other.     So  there 
I  was,  revolving  in  my  head  whence  this  withered  breast 
could 'come  ;  and  persuaded  that  it  must  have  an  intimate 
relation  with  some  marked  natural  vice.     By  dint  of  turn- 
ing and  returning  this  idea  over  in  my  head,  it  struck  me 
as  being  as  clear  as  day  that  in  that  creature,  the  most 
charmiifg  my  fancy  could  picture,  I  but  held  in  my  arms  a 
species  of  monster,  the  outcast  of  nature,  men  and  love. 
I  carried  my  stupidity  so  far  as  even  to  speak  of  the  matter 
to  her      At  first  she  treated  the  thing  jocosely,  and,  in  her 
frolicsome  humor,  did  and  said  things  fit  to  have  made  me 
die  of  love.     Still,  however,  there  remained  a  certam  de- 
gree of  disquietude  in  my  mind  I  could  not  conceal.     This 
she  perceived,  and  at  length  redenning,  she  adjusted  her 
dress,  rose  up,  and,  without  saying  a  word,  went  and  sat 
down  at  the  window.     I  attempted  to  sit  beside  her,— she 
withdrew  to  a  sopha,— rose  from  it  a  moment  after,  and, 
walking  up  and  down  the  room,  fanning  herself  meanwhile, 
said  to°me  in  a  cold,  contemptuous  tone.     "Zaiietto,  lasaa 
le  donne,  e  studia  la  matematica—{\eii\e  women  and  go  to 
studying  mathematics  !) 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VII.     1743 — 1744.  53 

Before  taking  my  leave,  I  requested  her  to  appoint  an- 
other meeting  for  the  day  following.  This  she  put  off  till 
the  third  day,  adding  with  a  sarcastic  smile,  that  I  must 
needs  want  rest.  This  interval  I  passed  very  ill  at  my  ease, 
my  heart  full  of  her  grace  and  charms,  realizing  my  extra- 
vagance, reproaching  myself  therewith,  regretting  the  uio- 
ments  so  badly  employed,  which  it  rested  but  with  myself 
to  have  made  the  most  extatic  of  my  life,  waiting  with  the 
most  lively  impatience  the  moment  when  I  might  make  rep- 
aration for  my  loss,  and  still  anxiously  desirous,  spite  of  all 
my  reasoning,  to  reconcile  the  perfections  of  the  adorable 
girl  with  the  infamy  of  her  condition  in  life.  I  ran,  I  flew 
to  her  house  at  the  appointed  hour.  I  know  not  if  her 
ardent  temperament  would  have  been  better  satisfied  with 
this  visit  ;  her  pride  at  any  rate  would  have  been,  and  I 
was  counting  in  advance  on  the  delicious  enjoyment  of  show- 
ing her  in  every  possible  way,  how  well  I  knew  how  to  make 
up  for  the  wrong  I  had  done  her.  She  spared  me  this 
trouble.  The  gondolier  whom,  on  arriving  at  her  house, 
I  had  sent  on  before  me,  brought  me  word  that  she  had 
left  the  day  before  for  Florence.  If  I  had  not  realized  the 
whole  depth  of  my  passion  in  possessing,  I  did  so,  and  that 
very  bitterly,  in  losing  her.  Nor  has  my  heart-felt  regret 
ever  left  me.  Amiable,  charming  though  she  was  in  my 
eyes,  I  might  have  found  consolation  for  her  loss  ;  but 
what  I  have  never  been  able  to  console  myself  for,  I  con- 
fess, is  that  she  should  have  carried  away  only  a  contemp- 
tuous remembrance  of  me. 

These  are  my  two  stories.  My  eighteen  months'  stay 
at  Venice  furnished  me  with  nothing  further  in  the  same 
line,  save  a  mere  project  at  most.  Carrio  was  a  gallant. 
Sick  of  continually  visiting  girls,  engaged  to  others,  he  took 
it  into  his  head  that  he,  too,  would  have  one  ;  and  as  we 
were  inseparable,  he  proposed  that  we  should  enter  into  an 
arrangement,  common  enough  at  Venice  ;  namely,  to  share 
one  between  us.  To  this  I  consented.  The  thing  was  to 
find  a  reliable  one.  Well,  he  was  so  industrious  in  his 
search  that  he  came  across  a  little  girl  of  from  eleven  to 
twelve  years  old,  whom  her  infamous  mother  was  seeking 
to  sell.  We  went  to  see  her  together.  The  sight  of  the  child 
deeply  moved  my  compassion  :   she  was  fair  and  gentle  as  a 


54  EODSSEAU'S  CONFESSIONS. 

lamb,— nobody  would  ever  have  taken  her  for  an  Italian. 
Living  is  very  cheap  at  Yenice,  so  we  gave  a  little  money 
to  the  mother,  and  provided  for  the  support  of  the  daugh- 
ter.    She  had  a  good  voice,  so  we  furnished  her  with  a 
music-teacher  and  a  spinet,  hoping  that  she  might  turn  her 
talent  to  some  account.     All  this  cost  each  of  us  scarcely 
two   sequins  a  month,  and  we  managed    to  save  a  good 
deal  more  in  other  matters ;  though,  as  we  were  obliged 
to  wait  till  she  had  ripened,  it  was  like  sowing  a  great 
while  before  we  could  possibly  reap.     However,  satisfied 
with  going  and  passing  our  evenings  along  with  her,  chat- 
tino-  and  playing  most  innocently  with  the  child,  we  per- 
haps enjoyed  ourselves  better  than  though  we  had  possessed 
her— so  true  is  it  that  what  attracts  us  most  in^  women, 
is  not  so  much  mere  animal  gratification  as  a  certain  pleas- 
ure we  experience  in  being   along  with  them.     Insensibly 
my  heart  grew  fond  of  the  little  Anzoletta,  grew  fond  with 
a  father's  fondness,   a  fondness  in  which  the  senses  had  so 
small  a  share  that,  in  proportion  as  it  increased,  it  would 
have  been  all  the  more  repugnant  to  me  that  passion  should 
have  any  part  therein  ;  and  I  felt  that  I  should  experience 
the  same  horror  at  approaching  the  little  girl  on  her  be- 
coming nubile,  as  I  would  at  an  abominable  incest.     I  per- 
ceived" the  sentiments  of  the  good  Carrio  take,  unobserved 
by  himself,  the  same  turn.  Thus  we  were  both  unintentionally 
preparing' for  ourselves  pleasures  not  less  sweet,  but  very 
different  from   those  we  at  first  anticipated  ;    and  I  feel 
quite  certain  that,  however  beautiful  the  poor  child  might 
have  become,  far  from  becoming  the  corruptors  of  her  in- 
nocence, we  would  have  been  her  warmest  protectors.     My 
catastrophe,  arriving  as  it  did  shortly  afterwards,  deprived 
me  of  the  happiness  of  taking  a  part  in  this  good  work, 
and  all  of  mine  that  was  praiseworthy  in  the  matter  was 
the  desire  of  my  heart.     And  now  to  return  to  my  journey. 
My  first  project,  after  leaving  M.  de  Montaigu,  was  to 
retire  to  Geneva,  waiting,  meanwhile,  for  better  fortune  to 
clear  away  all  obstacles,  and  again  unite  me  to  my  poor  Ma- 
man.    But  the  noise  our  quarrel  had  made,  and  his  stupidity 
in  writing  of  it  to  court,  led  me  rather  to  journey  Paris- 
ward,  there  to  give  an  account  of  my  conduct,  and   com- 
plain'of  the  treatment  I  had  met  with  from  the  madman. 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VII.    1T43 — 1144.  55 

I  comraunciated  my  resolution  from  Venice  to  M.  de  Tlieil, 
Charge  d' Affaires  pro.  tern.,  after  M.  Amelot's  death.  I 
set  off  as  soon  as  my  letter,  pursuing  my  way  through 
Bergamo,  Como,  and  Domo  d'  Orsolo,  and  crossing  Simplon. 
AtSion,  M.  de  Chaignon,  the  French  Charge  cC Affaires,  show- 
ed me  a  thousand  kindnesses,  as  did  also  M.  de  la  Closure,  at 
Geneva.  At  the  latter  place,  I  renewed  my  acquaintance 
with  M.  de  Gauffecourt,  from  whom  I  had  some  money  to 
receive.  Nyon  I  had  passed  through  without  going  to  see 
my  father  :  not  that  it  did  not  cost  me  a  good  deal  to  do  this, 
but  I  could  not  bring  my  mind  to  present  myself  before  my 
mother-in-law,  certain  of  being  condemned  without  a  hear- 
ing. Duvillard,  the  bookseller,  an  old  friend  of  my  father's, 
gave  me  quite  a  keen  reprimand  on  account  of  this  neglect. 
I  told  him  why  I  had  pursued  this  course  ;  so,  to  repair  my 
fault,  without  exposing  me  to  a  meeting  with  my  mother- 
in-law,  I  took  a  chaise,  and  we  went  to  Nyon,  where  we 
stopped  at  the  tavern.  Duvillard  meanwhile  went  in  search 
of  my  poor  father,  who  came  running  to  embrace  me.  We 
took  supper  together,  and  after  having  passed  an  evening 
dear  to  my  heart,  I  returned  the  morning  following  to 
Geneva  with  Duvillard,  for  whom  I  have  ever  since  retain- 
ed a  feeling  of  gratitude  for  the  good  he  did  me  on  this 
occasion. 

My  shortest  road  was  not  through  Lyons,  but  I  resolv- 
ed to  take  this  route,  as  I  wished  to  satisfy  myself  as  to  a 
very  base  piece  of  rascality  M.  de  Montaigu  played  me.  I  had 
had  a  small  trunk  sent  from  Paris,  containing  a  gold-laced 
waistcoat,  a  few  pair  of  ruffles,  and  six  pair  of  white  silk 
stockings — that  was  all.  According  to  a  proposition  he 
himself  made  me,  I  had  this  trunk,  or  rather  box,  put  along 
with  his  baggage.  In  the  apothecary's  bill,  he  offered  me 
in  payment  of  my  salary,  and  which  he  wrote  out  with  his 
own  hand,  he  had  put  down  the  weight  of  this  box,  which 
by  the  way  he  denominated  a  bale,  at  eleven  hundred 
weight,  and  had  charged  me  an  enormous  amount  for 
freight.  By  the  kindness  of  M.  Boy  de  la  Tour,  to  whom 
I  was  recommended  by  M.  Roguin,  his  uncle,  it  was  proven 
from  the  registers  of  the  custom-houses  at  Lyons  and  Mar- 
seilles that  the  said  "  bale"  weighed  but  forty-five  pounds, 
for  which  portage  had  been  paid  accordingly.     I  added  this 


56  Rousseau's  confessions. 

authentic  extract  to  M.  de  Montaigu's  memorial,  aud,  armed 
with  these  papers  and  others  equally  conclusive,  I  betook 
me  to  Paris,  very  impatient  to  make  use  of  them.  I  had, 
during  this  long  journey,  various  little  adventures  at  Como, 
in  Yalois,  and  elsewhere.  I  saw  several  things,  and  among 
the  rest  the  Boroma  islands,  which  might  well  deserve  a 
description.  My  days,  however,  are  fleeting  fast  away  ;  I 
am  beset  by  spies,  and  am  forced  to  perform  badly  and  in 
haste  a  work  which  for  its  proper  execution  would  demand 
leisure  and  quiet,  to  both  of  which  I  am  a  stranger.  If 
ever  Providence  looks  down  upon  me  aud  grants  me  calmer 
days,  I  shall  devote  them  to  re-modelling,  if  possible,  this 
work,  or  at  least  to  adding  thereto  a  supplement,  of  which  I 
feel  it  stands  in  very  great  need.*  The  fame  of  my  case 
had  gone  before  me,  aud  on  arriving,  I  found  that  the  bu- 
reaux and  the  public  in  general  were  all  scandalized  by  the 
follies  of  the  Ambassador.  But  in  spite  of  this,  in  spite  of 
the  public  voice  at  Venice,  in  spite  of  the  unanswerable 
proofs  I  exhibited,  I  was  unable  to  obtain  even  a  shadow 
of  justice.  Far  from  getting  either  satisfaction  or  repara- 
tion, I  was  even  left  at  the  mercy  of  the  Ambassador  for 
my  salary,  and  this  for  the  sole  reason  that,  not  being  a 
Frenchman,  I  had  no  claim  to  the  national  protection,  and 
because  it  was  a  private  affair  between  him  and  myself. 
Everybody  granted  that  I  was  insulted,  injured,  unfortun- 
ate, that  the  Ambassador  was  a  villain  and  a  madman,  and 
that  the  affair  would  dishonor  him  for  ever.  But  what  of 
that  ? — He  was  an  Ambassador  ;  poor  I  was  but  a  secre- 
tary. Good  order,  or  what  they  called  such,  was  in  opposition 
to  my  claim  for  justice,  and  I  obtained  none.  I  conceived 
that  by  dint  of  complaining  and  publicly  treating  the  fool  as 
he  deserved,  I  should  at  length  be  told  to  hold  my  tongue  ; 
and  this  was  precisely  what  I  wished  for,  fully  resolved  as 
I  was  not  to  obey  till  I  had  obtained  redress.  But  there 
was  at  that  time  no  such  thing  as  a  minister  of  foreign  af- 
fairs. They  let  me  blab  and  bawl  away,  nay,  they  even  encou- 
raged me  and  joined  in  the  chorus,  l)nt  the  affair  remained 
just  so  ;  till  at  last,  tired  of  being  for  ever  in  the  right,  and 
never  obtaining  justice,  I  lost  courage,  aud  let  the  whole 
matter    rop. 

*  I  ha-  '  given  up  this  project. 


PERIOD  II.   BOOK  VII.     Il43 — 1744.  57 

The  only  person  that  received  me  badly,  and  from  whom 
I  should  have  least  expected  this  injustice,  was  Madam  de 
Beuzenval.  Full  of  the  prerogatives  of  rank  and  nobility, 
she  could  never  get  it  into  her  head  that  there  was  any 
possibility  of  an  Ambassador's  wronging  his  Secretary. 

The  reception  she  gave  me  was  in  unison  with  this  notion. 
At  this  I  was  so  piqued,  that,  on  leaving  her  house. I  sent 
her  perhaps  one  of  the  severest  and  most  pointed  letters  I 
ever  wrote,  and  never  returned  again.  Father  Castel 
received  me  better  ;  though,  maugre  his  Jesuitical  wheed- 
ling, I  saw  that  he  pretty  faithfully  followed  one  of  the 
prime  maxims  of  society,  namely,  always  to  sacrifice  the 
weaker  to  the  stronger.  My  keen  realization  of  the  justice 
of  my  cause,  and  my  natural  pride,  would  not  allow  me 
patiently  to  endure  this  partiality.  I  ceased  visiting 
Father  Castel,  and  thereby  gave  up  frequenting  the  Jesuits, 
among  whom  I  knew  nobody  but  himself.  Besides,  the  in- 
triguing and  tyrannical  spirit  of  his  brethren,  so  different 
from  the  openheartedness  of  good  Father  Hemet,  so  alienat- 
ed my  affections  that  I  have  never  since  been  acquainted 
with  any  of  them,  unless  it  be  Father  Berthier,  whom  I 
met  twice  or  thrice  at  M.  Dupin's  :  the  two  were  working 
with  might  and  main  at  the  refutation  of  Montesquieu. 

Let  us  finish,  never  more  to  return  to  the  subject,  what 
I  have  farther  to  say  touching  M.  de  Moutaigu.  I  had 
told  him  in  our  dispute  that  what  he  wanted  was  not  a 
secretary,  but  an  attorney's  clerk.  He  took  the  hint,  and 
procured  a  regular  lawyer  as  my  successor, — a  chap  who, 
in  less  than  a  year,  robbed  him  of  twenty  or  thirty  thousand 
livers.  He  discharged  him,  and  had  him  put  in  prison,  dis- 
missed his  Gentlemen  with  high  scandal  and  uproar,  got 
himself  everywhere  into  quarrels,  received  affronts  a  flunkey 
would  not  have  borne,  and  at  last  by  his  eternal  follies  got 
himself  recalled  and  was  sent  off  to  the  more  congenial 
employment  of  hoeing  turnips.  It  would  appear  that, 
among  the  reprimands  he  received  at  court,  his  affair  with 
me  was  not  forgotten  :  at  least  he  sent  his  steward,  shortly 
after  his  return,  to  settle  up  my  account,  and  give  me  what 
was  due  me.  I  was  in  want  of  it  just  theu  :  my  (yMs  in 
Venice,  debts  of  honor,  if  there  ever  were  such,  11.^  heavy 
on  my  mind.  Accordingly,  I  availed  myself  of  tlie  oppor- 
II.  3* 


58  ROUSSEAtj's  CONFESSIONS. 

tunity  that  thus  presented  itself,  to  discharge  them,  as  also 
to  make  it  all  right  with  Zanetto  Xani's  note.  I  took  what 
was  offered  me,  paid  all  my  debts,  and  was  left,  as  before, 
penniless,  though  relieved  from  a  burden  I  had  found  all 
but  insupportable.  Since  that  time  till  this  I  have  heard 
nothing  of  M.  de  Montaigu,  excepting  his  death,  which  I 
learned  from  public  report.  Rest  his  soul,  poor  man  !  He 
was  as  fit  for  the  functions  of  Ambassador  as  I  had  been  in 
my  young  days  for  those  of  City  Recorder.*  And  yet  it  was 
in  his  own  power  to  have  supported  himself  honorably  by 
my  services,  and  at  the  same  time  to  have  advanced  me  ra- 
pidly in  the  career  to  which  Count  de  Gouvon  had  destined 
me  in  my  youth,  and  for  which  I  had  by  my  own  efforts 
qualified  myself  at  a  later  age. 

The  justice  and  yet  uselessness  of  my  plaint  sowed 
within  me  seeds  of  indignation  against  our  stupid  political 
institutions,  which  ever  sacrifice  the  real  public  good  and 
genuine  justice  to  I  know  not  what  apparent  order,  destruc- 
tive, in  truth,  of  all  order,  and  which  but  adds  the  sanction 
of  public  authority  to  the  oppression  of  the  weak  and  the 
iniquity  of  the  powerful.  Two  circumstances  prevented  this 
germ  from  then  developing,  as  it  afterwards  did  :  The  first 
was  the  fact  that  it  was  myself  that  was  concerned  ;  and 
personal  interest,  which  has  never  produced  aught  greater 
noble,  had  not  the  power  to  excite  in  my  heart  that  divine 
fervor  which  it  belongs  but  to  the  purest  love  of  the  Just 
and  Beautiful  to  call  forth  ;  the  other  was  the  charm  of 
friendship  which  tempered  and  calmed  my  wrath  by  the  as- 
cendency of  a  milder  sentiment.  I  had  made,  at  Venice, 
the  acquaintance  of  a  Biscayan,  one  of  friend  Carrio's 
friends,  and  a  man  worthy  of  the  love  of  every  noble  soul. 
This  amiable  young  man,  born  to  every  talent  and  virtue, 
had  just  been  making  the  tour  of  Italy  to  the  end  of  culti- 
vating his  taste  for  the  fine  arts  ;  and,  imagining  he  had 
nothing  more  to  acquire,  he  was  about  to  return  direct  to 
his  own  country.  1  told  him  the  arts  were  but  a  relaxation 
for  a  genius  like  his,  born  as  he  was  for  the  study  of  the 
sciences  ;  and  to  get  a  taste  thereof  I  advised  him  to  go 
and  spend  six  months  in  Paris.  He  took  my  advice,  and 
went.     Here  he  was  awaiting  me  when  I  arrived,  aud, 

♦  Vol.  I. 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  VII.    1143 — 1*144.  59 

having  too  much  room  where  he  lod.ired,  he  offered  me 
half.  This  I  accepted.  I  found  him  absorbed  in  the  sub- 
limest  sciences.  Nothing  was  above  his  reach  ;  he  devoured 
and  digested  everything  with  prodigious  rapidity.  How 
cordially  did  he  thank  me  for  having  procured  him  this  in- 
tellectual aliment,  thirsty  for  knowledge  as  his  mind  had 
been  without  his  knowing  it  !  What  treasures  of  light  and 
virtue  did  I  find  in  that  powerful  soul  !  I  felt  he  was  the 
friend  I  needed,  and  we  soon  became  most  intimately  at- 
tached to  each  other.  Our  tastes  were  not  the  same,  so  we 
were  constantly  disputing.  Strong-headed,  as  both  of  us 
were,  we  could  never  agree.  And  yet,  with  all  this,  we 
became  inseparable  ;  and  though  we  were  incessantly  wrang- 
ling, we  would  neither  of  us  have  wished  the  other  any  dif- 
ferent from  what  he  was. 

Ignacio  Emmanuel  de  Altuna  was  one  of  those  raxe 
spirits  Spain  alone  produces,  and  whereof  she  produces  too 
few  for  her  glory.  He  was  free  from  those  violent  na- 
tional passions  common  to  his  country, — the  idea  of  ven- 
geance could  no  more  enter  his  head,  than  the  desire  his 
heart.  He  was  too  proud  to  be  vindictive,  and  I  have 
often  heard  him  coolly  aver  that  no  mortal  could  offend  him. 
He  was  gallant  without  being  tender.  He  played  himself 
with  women  as  he  might  have  done  with  pretty  children. 
He  took  pleasure  in  intercourse  with  the  mistresses  of  his 
friends,  though  I  never .  knew  him  to  have  one  of  his  own, 
nor  the  least  desire  therefor.  The  flames  of  virtue  that  de- 
voured his  heart  never  gave  the  fire  of  passion  any  oppor- 
tunity to  kindle. 

After  finishing  his  travels,  he  married,  but  died  young, 
leaving  several  children  ;  and  I  am  as  sure  as  I  am  of  my 
own  existence  that  his  wife  was  the  first  and  only,  woman 
with  whom  he  ever  tasted  the  pleasures  of  love.  Externally 
he  was  devout,  as  are  Spaniards  generally,  but  within  was 
the  piety  of  an  angel.  Myself  excepted,  he  is  the  only  man  of 
these  times  I  ever  saw  that  know  what  tolerance  is.  He 
never  inquired  of  any  man  how  he  thought  touching  mat- 
ters of  religion.  Little  cared  he  whether  his  friend  was  a 
Jew,  Protestant,  Turk,  Bigot,  Atheist,  or  what  not,  pro- 
vided he  was  but  au  honest  man.  Firm,  nay,  obstinate 
in  matters  of  no  consequence,  just  as  soon  as  the  question 


60  Rousseau's  confessions. 

touched  religion,  or  even  morality,  he  would  collect  him- 
self, remain  silent  or  simply  observe,  "  I  have  to  do  hut  with 
myself. ^^  It  is  incredible  that  any  human  being  could  join 
to  such  elevation  of  soul  a  spirit  of  detail  carried  eveu  to 
miuutiousness.  He  laid  out,  and  settled  beforehand  the 
employment  of  the  day  by  hour,  quarter  and  minute,  and  so 
scrupulously  did  he  adhere  to  this  distribution  that,  had  the 
clock  struck  whilst  he  was  in  the  middle  of  a  phrase,  ho 
would  have  closed  his  book  without  finishing  it.  Part  of 
the  time  he  devoted  to  this  study,  another  to  that  ;  he  had 
a  season  for  reflection,  for  conversation,  for  business,  for 
Locke,  for  his  rosary,  for  visits,  for  music,  for  painting : 
and  there  was  no  possible  pleasure,  temptation  nor  com- 
plaisance that  was  allowed  to  interfere  with  this  arrange- 
ment,— naught  but  a  duty  to  perform  could  have  broken 
in  on  it.  When  he  handed  me  the  schedule  of  the  distribu- 
tion of  his  time  he  had  drawn  out,  in  order  that  I  might 
conform  thereto,  I  began  by  laughing,  but  ended  by  weep- 
ing with  admiration.  He  never  put  anybody  out  of  the 
way,  and  he  never  suffered  anybody  to  put  him  out, — pretty 
roughly  would  he  use  any  one  that  persisted  in  pestering 
him  with  politeness.  He  could  be  mad  without  being  sulky. 
I  have  often  seen  him  angry,  but  never  huffed.  Nothing 
could  be  gayer  than  his  humor,  for  he  relished  a  joke  him- 
self, and  knew  well  how  to  crack  one.  He  was  even  bril- 
liant in  repartee,  and  had  the  talent  of  turning  an  epigram. 
When  animated,  he  was  noisy  and  frolicsome,  his  voice 
ringing  out  clear  and  far  :  but  in  the  midst  of  his  boister- 
ousness,  a  smile  would  mantle  his  face,  and  he  would  let 
out  some  witty  speech  that  set  the  table  in  a  roar.  He 
partook  as  little  of  the  complexion  of  the  Spaniards  as  he 
did  of  their  phlegm.  His  skin  was  fair,  his  cheeks  ruddy, 
and  his  hair  of  an  almost  blond  chesnut.  He  was  tall  and 
well  made,  with  a  body  fitted  to  lodge  his  soul. 

This  wise-hearted  as  well  as  wise-headed  soul,  with  his 
deep  knowledge  of  human  nature,  was  my  friend.  This  is 
all  the  answer  I  have  to  give  to  those  who  are  not  so. 
Nay,  we  grew  so  attached  that  we  formed  the  project  of 
passing  our  days  together.  In  a  few  years  I  was  to  have 
gone  to  Ascotia  to  live  with  him  on  his  estate.  All  the 
arrangements   were  determined   upon   by   us  the  evening 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  VII.       1143 1144.  fil 

before  his  departure.  There  was  wanting  for  its  fulfillment 
but  that  which  does  not  depend  on  man  in  his  best  laid 
schemes.  Subsequent  events,  my  disasters,  his  marriage, 
and  finally  his  death  separated  us  for  ever. 

One  would  say  that  'tis  but  the  dark  plots  of  the 
wicked  that  succeed, — the  innocent  projects  of  the  honest 
man  scarce  ever  attain  to  accomplishment. 

Having  experienced  the  inconvenience  of  dependence,  I 
firmly  resolved  never  to  expose  myself  to  it  again.  Having 
seen  the  projects  of  ambition  circumstances  had  excited 
within  me  invariably  nipped  in  their  shoot,  and  too  dis- 
couraged again  to  enter  upon  the  career  I  had  so  well  began 
(and  from  which,  nevertheless,  I  had  just  been  cast  forthj 
I  resolved  never  again  to  connect  myself  with  any  person, 
but  to  remain  in  independence  and  turn  my  talents,  the 
full  range  of  which  I  at  length  realized,  and  which  I  had 
hitherto  esteemed  too  modestly,  to  account.  I  resumed  the 
composition  of  my  Opera,  which  I  had  lain  aside  to  go  to 
Venice  ;  and,  so  as  to  devote  myself  the  more  entirely  to 
my  labor,  after  the  departure  of  Altuna,  I  returned  to 
lodge  in  my  old  St.  Quentin  hotel,  which,  being  in  an 
unfrequented  part  of  the  city  and  not  far  from  the  Luxem- 
bourg, allowed  me  to  work  more  at  my  ease  than  was  pos- 
sible in  the  noisy  Rue  Saint  Houore.  Here  it  was  that 
the  only  real  consolation  heaven  has  granted  me  in  my 
misery,  a  consolation  which  alone  renders  it  endurable, 
awaited  me.  As  this  was  no  transient  acquaintance,  I 
must  enter  into  some  detail  touching  the  manner  in  which 
it  was  formed. 

We  had  got  a  new  hostess  from  Orleans.  She,  to  assist 
her  in  the  needle-work,  hired  a  girl  from  her  own  part  of 
the  country  of  two  or  three-and-twenty  years  of  age,  who, 
as  well  as  the  hostess  ate  along  with  us.  This  girl,  called 
Therese  Le  Yasseur,  was  of  a  good  family  :  her  father  was 
an  officer  in  the  mint  at  Orleans,  and  her  mother  was  a 
shopkeeper.  They  had  a  very  large  family.  The  mint  of 
Orleans  being  stopped,  the  father  was  thrown  out  of 
employment  ;  and  the  mother,  having  suffered  losses  of  one 
kind  or  another,  became  greatly  reduced,  gave  up  business, 
and  came  to  Paris  with  her  husband  and  her  daughter,  who 
supported  the  three  by  the  labor  of  her  hands. 


62  Rousseau's  confessions. 

The  first  time  I  saw  the  maiden  make  her  appearance  at 
table,  I  was  struck  with  her  modest  behavior  and  still  more 
so  by  her  bright,  sweet  look  :  I  never  saw  the  like  of  it. 
The  company  was  composed  of  several  Irish  and  Gascon 
priests,  with  other  persons  of  the  cloth,  besides  M.  de 
Bonnefond.  Our  hostess  had  herself  sown  her  wild  oats,  so 
that  there  was  but  myself  that  spoke  or  behaved  with 
decency.  •  They  made  the  little  girl  their  butt,  so  I  took  up 
the  cudgels  in  her  defence.  Forthwith,  down  on  me  fell 
their  quips  and  gibes  thick  and  fast.  Even  though  I  had 
naturally  had  no  inclination  for  the  poor  girl,  compassion 
and  opposition  would  have  excited  it  in  me.  I  have  always 
loved  decency  of  manners  and  conversation,  especially  in  the 
other  sex,  so  I  openly  declared  myself  her  champion.  I 
perceived  that  she  was  sensible  to  my  attentions,  and  her 
looks,  animated  by  gratitude,  became  only  the  more 
engaging. 

She  was  very  timid,  and  so  was  I.  This  common  dis- 
position, it  may  be  supposed,  delayed  our  intimacy  ;  but 
not  so— it  went  on  apace.  The  landlady,  perceiving  how 
matters  stood,  became  furious,  and  her  brutalities  forwarded 
my  affairs  with  the  maiden,  who,  having  no  one  but  myself 
in  the  house  as  a  stay,  saw  me  go  out  with  pain  and  sighed 
for  the  return  of  her  protector.  The  affinity  of  our  hearts 
and  the  similarity  of  our  dispositions  soon  produced  their 
customary  effects.  She  thought  she  saw  in  me  an  honest 
man  ;  nor  was  she  mistaken.  I  thought  I  saw  in  her  a 
sensible,  simple  girl,  devoid  of  all  coquettery  ;  and  I  was 
not  m'istaken,  either.  I  told  her,  to  begin  with,  that  I 
would  never  either  forsake  or  marry  her.  Love,  esteem, 
artless  sincerity,  were  the  ministers  of  my  triumph  ;  and  it 
was  because  she  was  tender  and  virtuous  that  I  was  made 
happy  without  being  presuming. 

The  apprehension  she  wns  under  that  I  would  be  vexed 
at  not  finding  in  her  what  she  thought  I  sought,  retarded 
my  happiness  more  than  anything  else.  I  saw  her,  dis- 
concerled  and  confused,  before  yielding  her  consent,  wishing 
to  be  understood,  and  yet  not  daring  to  explain  herself. 
Far  from  suspecting  the  real  cause  of  her  embarrassment, 
I  conceived  a  very  false,  and,  to  her  morals,  most  insulting 
motive  therefor  ;  and  imagining  that  she  meant  to  warn  me 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  VII.      1143 — 1144.  63 

that  my  health  might  run  some  risk,  I  fell  into  a  state  of 
perplexity  which  did  not,  to  be  sure,  turn  aside  my  pur- 
pose, but  which  poisoned  ray  happiness  for  several  days. 
As  we  did  not  understand  each  other,  our  conversations  on 
the  subject  l)ecame  so  many  enigmas  that  were  more  than 
ludicrous.  She  was  on  the  point  of  believing  me  stark 
mad,  while  I  was  completely  dumbfounded  and  knew  not 
what  to  think  of  her.  At  length,  however,  we  came  to  an 
understanding  :  with  tears  she  confessed  to  a  single  frailty, 
during  her  early  girlhood,  the  fruit  of  her  ignorance,  and 
the  address  of  a  seducer.  The  moment  I  saw  how  matters 
stood,  I  gave  a  shout  of  joy  :  "  Virginity  !"  exclaimed  I — 
"  a  fine  thing,  indeed,  to  be  sought  for  in  Paris  and  at  the  age 
of  twenty  !  Ah,  my  Therese,  I  am  too  happy  in  possessing 
thee  good  and  healthy,  without  looking  for  what  I  never 
expected  to  find." 

At  first  I  had  sought  but  an  amusement.  I  saw,  how- 
ever, that  I  had  gone  farther  and  had  given  myself  a  com- 
panion. A  short  intimacy  with  this  excellent  girl,  and 
some  little  reflection  on  my  situation  brought  home  the  con- 
viction to  me,  that  while  merely  thinking  of  my  pleasure,  I 
had  done  a  great  deal  towards  my  happiness.  I  felt  the 
need  of  some  profound  sentiment  that  would  fill  the  entire 
capacity  of  my  soul,  and  supply  the  place  of  my  extinguished 
ambition.  In  a  word,  1  wanted  a  successor  to  Mavian  : 
since  I  was  no  longer  to  live  with  her,  I  required  somebody 
to  live  with  her  eleve — some  one  in  whom  I  should  find  the 
same  simpUcity,  the  same  docility  of  heart  she  had  found 
in  me.  It  was  necessary,  moreover,  that  the  sweetness  of 
private  and  domestic  life  should  indemnify  me  for  the  splen- 
did career  I  had  just  renounced.  When  quite  alone,  I 
felt  an  aching  void  in  my  heart — a  void,  however,  which  it 
needed  but  another  heart  to  fill.  Fate  had  deprived  me  of, 
had  iu  part,  at  least,  alienated  from  me  the  soul  for  whom 
nature  had  formed  me.  Thenceforth  I  was  alone,  for  with 
me  no  medium  was  ever  possible  between  All  and  Naught. 
I  found  in  Therese  the  complement  I  felt  I  needed  ;  in  her 
I  lived  as  happily  as  was  possible,  considering  the  course 
of  events. 

At  first  I  tried  to  cultivate  her  mind.  'Twas  labor  lost. 
Mentally  she  is  precisely  as  nature  formed  heu — culture  aud 


64  Rousseau's  confessions. 

care  seemed  to  have  no  effect  on  her.  I  do  not  blush  to 
acknowledge  that  she  has  never  become  a  good 'reader, 
though  she  writes  passably.  When  I  went  to  lodge  in  the 
rue  Neuve-des-Petits-Champs,  there  was  a  clock  in  front  of 
the  hotel  de  Pontchartrain,  opposite  our  windows.  Here  I 
labored  hard  for  a  month,  trying  to  teach  her  to  tell  the 
hour.  Indeed  she  can  scarcely  do  it  yet.  She  could  never 
get  into  her  head  the  regular  succession  of  the  twelve 
months  of  the  year,  and  «he  could  never  tell  a  single  figure, 
spite  of  all  my  efforts  to  teach  her.  She  knows  neither  how 
to  count  money,  nor  to  reckon  the  price  of  any  thing.  The 
word  that  comes  to  her  whil§  talking  is  often  the  direct  op- 
posite of  what  she  means  to  say.  Some  time  since,  I  made 
out  a  dictionary  of  her  phrases  to  amuse  Madam  de  Luxem- 
bourg, and  her  quid-pro-qiws  have  become  far-famed  in  the 
circles  I  moved  in.  And  yet  this  being,  so  dull-witted,  so 
stupid,  if  you  will,  can  give  excellent  advice  in  an  emergen- 
cy. Many  a  time  in  Switzerland,  in  England,  in  France, 
amid  the  difficulties  in  which  I  have  been  plunged,  she  has 
seen  what  I  did  not  see  myself,  has  given  me  the  best  possi- 
ble counsel,  has  r^ued  me  from  dangers  into  which  I  had 
rushed  headlong,  and  in  the  presence  of  ladies  of  the  highest 
rank,  of  princes  and  great  ones,  her  sentiments,  her  fine 
common  sense,  her  answers,  and  her  behavior,  have  drawn 
her  universal  esteem,  and  have  brought  me  congratulations 
on  her  worth,  the  sincerity  of  which  I  deeply  realized. 

With  persons  we  love,  affection  feeds  the  head  as  well 
as  the  hea,rt,  and  one  has  small  occasion  to  seek  for  ideas  in 
other  fields.  I  lived  with  my  Therese  as  happily  as  though 
she  had  been  the  finest  genius  in  the  world.  And  yet  there 
was  one  drawback.  Her  mother,  vam  of  having  been  brought 
up  under  the  Marchioness  de  Monpipeau,  affected  the  fine 
lady,  would  have  her  daughter's  judgment  formed  in  her 
school,  and  by  her  wiles  destroyed  the  simplicity  of  our  in- 
tercourse. My  disgust  at  this  intrusion  made  me  surmount 
in  a  ineasure  the  foolish  shanie  I  had  felt  at  the  idea  of 
appearing  with  Therese  in  public.  This  overcome,  we  took 
many  a  pleasant  country  stroll  together,  and  partook  of 
little  rustic  repasts  that  were  to  me  delicious.  I  saw  that 
she  sincerely  loved  me,  and  this  redoubled  my  tenderness. 
This  sweet  attachment  was  everything  to  me, — the  future 


PERIOD  11.     BOOK  VII.     1143 — 1744.  65 

gave  me  no  concern,  appeared  but  as  the  prolongation  of 
the  present,  and  I  desired  nothing  save  the  assurance  of  its 
duration. 

This  union  rendered  all  other  dissipation  superfluous  and 
insipid  to  me.  I  never  went  out  but  to  see  Therese  ;  her 
home  became  almost  mine.  My  retired  life  proved  so  fav- 
orable to  my  work,  that  in  less  than  three  months  I  had 
finished  my  Opera,  music,  words,  and  all.  There  simply  re- 
mained a  few  accompaniments  and  fillings  up  to  be  attended 
to.  This  touchy  piece  of  work  greatly  annoyed  me,  so  I 
proposed  to  Philodor  that  he  should  take  it  in  hand,  offer- 
ing him  a  share  of  the  profits.  He  came  twice  and  did 
something  to  the  act  of  Ovid  ;  but  he  could  not  confine 
himself  to  an  assiduous  application  by  the  allurement  of  a 
distant  and,  at  best,  uncertain  reward.  He  came  no  more, 
and  I  finished  the  task  myself. 

My  task  done,  the  next  thing  was  to  turn  it  to  account 
— a  task  a  good  deal  harder  than  tlie  first.  Nothing  can  be 
brought  about  in  Paris  when  one  lives  isolated  and  unknown. 
The  idea  struck  me  that  perhaps  I  might  make  my  way 
through  M.  de  la  Popliniere,  to  whom  Qifaufifecourt,  on  his 
return  from  Geneva,  had  introduced  me.  M.  de  La  Popliniere 
was  the  Macajuas  of  Rameau,  Madam  de  La  Popliniere 
Rameau's  very  humble  pupil.  I  guess  he  had  things  all  his 
own  way  there.  Judging  that  he  would  feel  a  pleasure  in 
extending  his  protection  to  the  work  of  one  of  his  disciples, 
I  wished  to  show  him  what  I  had  done.  He  refused  to  see 
it,  alleging  that  he  could  not  read  scorce,  as  it  was  too 
fatiguing  to  him.  La  Popliniere  thereupon  remarked  that 
he  might  hear  it,  and  offered  to  provide  me  with  musicians 
to  execute  selections  from  it.  I  wished  for  nothing  better. 
Rameau  grumbled  out  af  weak  consent,  incessantly  repeat- 
ing that  the  composition  of  a  man  not  bred  to  the  science 
and  who  had  learned  music  without  a  master  must  be  a  fine 
affair  indeed  !  I  hastened  to  copy  into  parts  five  or  six  se- 
lect passages.  Ten  performers  were  provided  me,  and 
Albert,  Berard,  and  Mile.  Bourbonnais  undertook  the  vo- 
cal part.  Rameau  began,  from  the  very  commencement  of 
the  overture,  endeavoring  by  his  extravagant  eulogies,  to 
have  it  understood  that  it  was  not  my  own.  He  did  not 
let  a  single  passage  go  by  without  manifesting  signs  of  im 


66  Rousseau's  confessions. 

patience  ;  but  at  a  contralto  passage,  the  air  of  which  was 
full  and  ringing,  and  the  accompaniment  exceeding  brilliant, 
he  could  contain  himself  no  longer,  but  broke  out  on  me 
with  a  brutality  that  shocked  every  one  present,  maintaining 
that  a  part  of  what  he  had  just  heard  was  by  a  consummate 
artist,   and  the  rest  by  a  blockhead  that  did  not  know  a 
note  of  music.     'Tis  true,  my  work,  with  its  inequalities 
and  violations  of  rule,  was  now  sublime  and  anon  common- 
place in  the  extreme,  as  the  effort  of  a  man  who  rises 
to  heights  only  by  the  stray  soarings  of  genius,  and  whose 
flight  is  not  sustained  by  science,  must  be.     Rameau  pre- 
tended to  see   in  me  a  contemptible  pilferer,   devoid    of 
both  taste  and  talent.     The  rest  of  the  company,  and  par- 
ticularly tTie  master  of  the  house,  were  of  a  ditfereut  opinion. 
M.  de  Richelieu,  who,  at  that  time,  was  a  frequent  visitor 
of  M.  de  La  Popliniere— (and,  as  is  well  known,  of  Madam, 
too)— heard  tell  of  my  work,  and  expressed  a  wish  to  hear 
the  whole  of  it,  with  the  intention,  if  it  pleased  hira,  of  hav- 
ing it  performed  at  court.     Accordingly,  it  was  executed 
with  full  chorus  and  orchestra,  at  the  King's  expense,  at 
M.  de  Boneval's,  Intendant  des  Menus,  Francoeur  being  con- 
ductor.    The  effect  was  astonishing  :   the  Duke  kept  up_a 
continued  round  of  applause,  and,  at  the  end  of  a  chorus,  in 
the  act  of  Tasso,  he  rose  and  came  to  me,  and,  pressing  my 
hand,  said,  "  M.  Rousseau,  that  is  indeed  transporting  har- 
mony.    I  never  heard  anything  finer.     I'll  get  your  work 
performed  at  Versailles."     Madam  de  La  Popliniere,  who 
was  present,  said  not  a  word  ;  Rameau,  though  invited, 
would  not  come.    The  day  following,  Madam  de  La  Poplin- 
iere gave  me  a  very  ungracious  reception  at  her  toilet, 
affected  to  undervalue  my  piece,  and  told  me  that  though  a 
certain  false  glitter  had  at  first  dazzled  M.  de  Richelieu,  he 
had  got  quite  over  the  impression,  and  that  she  would  not 
advise  me  to  rely  in  the  least  on  my  Opera.     The  Duke 
himself  arrived  shortly  afterwards,  and  spoke  to  me  in  a 
quite  diS'erent  strain,  complimenting  ine  in  the  most  flatter- 
ing- terms  on  my  talents,  and  seeming  as  much  disposed  as 
ever  to  have  my  composition  performed  before  the  King. 
"  There  is,"  said  he,  "  only  the  act  of  Tasso  that  will  not 
pass  at  court, — you  must  write  another."    Upon  this  simple 
hint,  I  went  and  shut  myself  up  in  my  apartment,  and  in 


PERIOD  II.    BOOK  VII.    1745 — 1741.  67 

three  weeks  I  had  produced,  in  place  of  Tasso,  another  act, 
the  subject  of  which  was  Hesiod  inspired  by  the  Muses.  I 
found  the  secret  of  transmitting  to  this  act  a  part  of  the 
history  of  my  talents,  and  of  the  jealousy  with  which  Ram- 
eau  had  been  pleased  to  honor  them.  There  was  in  this 
new  act  a  less  gigantic  but  better  sustained  elevation  than 
in  the  act  of  Tasso  ;  the  music,  too,  was  noble,  and  much 
better  elaborated,  and  had  the  two  other  acts  equalled  it, 
the  whole  piece  would  advantageously  have  sustained  re- 
presentation. But  whilst  I  was  laboring  at  getting  it  into 
the  fit  state,  another  project  suspended  its  execution. 

(1745 — 1747).  During  the  winter  following  the  battle 
of  Fontenoy,  there  were  many  fetes  given  at  Versailles, 
and  among  others,  several  Operas  were  performed  at  the 
Petites-Ecuries  theatre.  Among  the  number  was  Voltaire's 
Drama,  entitled  The  Princess  of  Navarre,  the  music  by 
Raraeau.  It  had  just  been  remoulded  and  brought  out 
anevfunder  the  name  of  the  Fetes  of  Ramire.  This  new 
subject  required  various  changes  in  the  divertissements,  as 
well  in  the  poetry  as  in  the  music,  and  some  person  capable  of 
managing  both  was  sought  after.  Voltuire  was  just  then 
in  Lorraine,  as  was  also  Rameau — occupied  both  of  them 
on  the  Opera  of  the  Temple  of  Glory, — and  so  was  of  course 
unable  to  give  any  attention  to  the  matter.  M.  de  Riche- 
lieu thought  of  me  and  sent  to  me,  proposing  that  I  should 
take  it  in  hand  ;  and  that  I  might  the  better  be  able  to 
examine  what  there  was  to  be  done,  he  sent  me  the  poem 
and  the  music  separately.  But,  to  begin  with,  I  would  not 
touch  the  words  without  the  consent  of  the  author. 
Accordingly  I  wrote  him  a  very  polite  and  I  may  say  very 
respectful  letter,  as  was  but  proper.  Here  is  his  answer, 
the  original  of  which  is   to  be  found  in  file  A,  No.  1.  * 

"December  15,  1745. 

"  You  unite,  sir,  in  yourself,  two  talents  that  have 
always  hitherto  been  separated, — two  good  reasons  for  me 
to  esteem  you  and  seek  your  love.  I  am  sorry,  on  your 
account,  that  you  should  employ  these  two  talents  on  a 
work  not  over  worthy  of  them.  Some  few  months  ago  his 
grace  the  Duke  of  Richelieu  commanded  me  in  absolute 

*  The  collection  of  letters  Eousseau  alludes  to  page  5  of  the  present 
vol.     Tr. 


68  ROUSSEAU'S  CONFESSIONS. 

terms  to  put  together,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  as  it  were, 
a  miserable  little  sketch  of  certain  insipid  and  disjointed 
scenes  to  be  adapted  to  divertissements  not  made  for  them. 
I  obeyed  with  the  utmost  exactitude,  writing  very  fast  and 
very  ill.  This  wretched  scrawl  I  sent  to  the  Duke,  count- 
ing that  he  would  not  make  use  of  it,  or  at  least  that  I 
should  have  a  chance  of  correcting  it.  Happily  it  is  in 
your  hands  ;  you  are  absolute  master  of  it  :  I  have  entirely 
lost  sight  of  the  thing.  I  doubt  not  you  will  have  correct- 
ed the  various  faults  that  cannot  but  abound  in  so  hasty  a 
composition,  and  I  feel  sure  you  will  have  supplied  what- 
ever was  wanting. 

"  I  recollect  that,  amongst  other  absurdities,  in  the  scenes 
that  connect  the  divertissements,  no  account  is  given  of  the 
manner  in  which  the  Grenadan  princess  suddenly  passes 
from  a  prison  into  a  garden  or  palace.  As  it  is  not  a 
magician  but  a  Spanish  Gentleman  that  is  giving  her  the 
fete,  it  seems  to  me  that  nothing  should  be  effected  by 
enchantment.  I  beg,  sir,  that  you  will  examine  this  part, 
whereof  I  have  but  a  confused  idea.  See  if  it  be  necessary 
that  the  person  should  open  and  we  get  our  princess  safely 
conveyed  thence  to  a  beautiful  gilt  and  varnished  palace 
prepared  for  her.  I  know  perfectly  well  that  all  this  is 
wretched  and  that  it  is  beneath  a  thinking  being  to  make  a 
serious  affair  of  such  trifles  ;  but,  since  we  must  displease  as 
little  as  possible,  it  is  befitting  we  infuse  as  much  common 
sense  as  we  can,  even  into  a  bad  opera  divertissement. 

"  I  rely  for  the  entire  matter  wholly  on  you  and  M.  Bal- 
lot, and  I  count  on  shortly  having  an  opportunity  of  return- 
ing you  my  thanks  and  of  assuring  you  how  much  I  am,  etc." 

Be  not  surprised  at  the  extreme  politeness  of  this  letter, 
compared  with  the  half  cavalier-like  epistles  he  has  since  writ- 
ten me.  He  imagined  I  was  a  great  favorite  at  M.  de  Riche- 
lieu's, and  his  well-known  courtly  suppleness  in  many  ways  ob- 
liged him  to  treat  a  new-comer  with  consideration,  until  he 
had  become  better  acquainted  with  the  measure  of  his  credit. 

Authorized  by  M.  de  Voltaire  and  freed  from  all  refer- 
ence to  Rameau,  who  only  sought  to  injure  me,  I 
set  to  work,  and  in  two  months  had  finished  my  task. 
With  respect  to  the  poetry  I  had  not  much  to  do.     My 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VII.     1745 — 1747.  69 

only  aim  was  that  the  difference  of  styles  should  not  be 
perceived  ;  and  I  had  the  presumption  to  believe  that  I 
was  successful.  The  musical  part  was  longer  and  more 
laborious.  Besides  my  having  to  compose  several  pre- 
paratory pieces  the  overture  amongst  the  rest— the  recitative, 
with  which  I  was  charged,  proved  to  be  extremely  difficult,  iu 
that  it  was  necessary  to  connpct,  often  in  a  very  few  verses  and 
by  very  rapid  modulations,  symphonies  and  choruses  in  very 
different  keys  ;  for  in  order  that  Rameau  might  have  no  op- 
portunity to  charge  me  with  having  disfigured  his  airs,  I  was 
determined  neither  to  change  nor  transpose  a  single  one  of 
them.  I  succeeded  well  iu  the  recitative  It  was  well  accent- 
ed, full  of  energy  and  of  particularly  excellent  modulation. 
The  idea  of  the  two  superior  men  with  whom  they  had  deigned 
to  associate  me  gave  wings  to  my  genius  ;  and  I  can  assert 
that,  in  this  thankless  and  ingloriou'slask,  of  which  the 
public  could  not  even  be  informed,  I  almost  always  kept 
close  up  to  my  models. 

The  piece,  in  the  form  into  which  I  threw  it,  was 
rehearsed  at  the  great  theatre  of  the  Opera.  Of  the  three 
authors  I  was  the  only  one  present.  Voltaire  was  absent, 
and  Rameau  did  not  come,  or  else  he  concealed  himself. 
The  words  of  the  first  monologue  were  very  mournful  and 
began  thus  : 

O  mort !  viens  terminer  le.s  malheurs  de  ma  vie. 

To  this  suitable  music  had  of  course  to  be  composed.  It 
was  on  this,  nevertheless,  that  Madam  de  La  Po})liniere 
founded  her  censure,  accusing  me  with  much  bitterness  with 
having  composed  a  funeral  march.  M.  de  Richelieu  judici- 
ously commenced  by  inquiring  whom  the  verses  of  the 
monologue  were  by.  I  presented  him  the  manuscript  he 
had  sent  me,  which  immediately  showed  they  were  by 
Voltaire.  "  In  that  case,"  said  he,  "  Voltaire  alone  is  to 
blame."  During  the  rehearsal  every  thing  that  was  by  me 
was  successively  cried  down  by  Madam  de  La  Popliuiere, 
and  cried  up  by  M.  de  Richelieu.  On  the  whole,  however, 
I  had  to  do  with  too  powerful  an  adversary,  and  it  was 
signified  to  me  that  several  parts  of  my  work  would  need 
revision — a  matter  on  which  it  would  be  necessary  to  con- 
sult M.  Rameau.     Galled  at  such  a  conclusion,  instead  of 


•jo  Rousseau's  confessions. 

the  praise  I  had  expected— praise  I  had  well  earned— -I 
returoed  home  with  a  dead  weight  on  my  heart.  Exhaust- 
ed with  fatigtie  aod  consumed  by  chagrin,  I  fell  sick,  and 
six  weeks  did  not  see  me  in  a  fit  state  to  be  about. 

Rameau,  who  was  charged  with  the  alterations  indicated 
by  Madam  de  La  Pophuiere,  sent  to  me  requesting  the  over- 
ture of  my  grand  Opera  to  substitute  in  place  of  the  one  I 
had  just  composed.  Happily  I  detected  the  game  he  was 
trying  to  come  over  me,  and  refused  to  give  it  to  him.  As 
it  lacked  but  five  or  six  days  till  the  time  of  representation, 
he  had  not  time  to  do  anything  in  the  way  of  a  new  one,  so 
he  had  to  let  mine  pass.  It  was  in  the  Italian  style,  a  style 
then  very  novel  in  France.  It  was  relished,  however,  and 
I  learned  from  M.  de  Valmalette,  the  King's  steward,  and 
son-in-law  of  my  friend  and  relative  M.  Mussard,  that  the 
amateurs  had  greatly  enjoyed  my  work,  and  that  the  pub- 
lic had  not  distinguished  it  from  Rameau's.  He,  however, 
in  concert  with  Madam  de  La  Popliniere,  took  measures  to 
prevent  its  being  known  that  I  had  had  any  hand  in  the 
matter.  On  the  books  they  distributed  to  the  audience,  and 
which  always  bear  the  author's  names,  Voltaire  was  the  only 
one  named:  Rameau  prefered  having  his  name  omitted  alto- 
gether rattier  than  have  it  appear  in  connection  with  mine. 

As  soon  as  I  was  in  a  state  to  go  out,  I  wished  to  wait 
on  M.  de  Richelieu.  But  it  was  too  late— he  had  just  left 
for  Dunkirk,  where  he  was  to  take  the  command  of  the 
troops  destined  for  Scotland.  On  his  return,  I  said  to  my- 
self, to  justify  my  indolence,  that  it  was  too  late.  Having 
never  seen  him  since,  I  lost  the  honor  my  work  deserved, 
with  the  emolument  it  .should  have  brought  me  ;  so  that 
my  time,  labor,  vexation,  sickness  and  what  it  cost  me,  all 
fell  on  me,  without  my  ever  receiving  a  cent  in  the  way  of 
recompense,  or  indemnification,  as  I  might  rather  call  it. 
It  has  always  seemed  to  me,  however,  that  M.  Richelieu 
had  naturally  an  inclination  for  me  and  thought  advanta- 
geously of  my  talents  ;  but  my  stars  and  Madam  de  La 
Popliniere  thwarted  the  purposes  of  his  good  will. 

I  could  not  fathom  the  cause  of  this  woman's  aversion  ; 
I  had  always  tried  my  utmost  to  please  her  and  regularly 
paid  my  court.  Gauftecourt  threw  light  on  the  matter. 
"To  begin  with,"  said  he,  "  there  is  her  friendship  for  Ra- 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VII.     1745 — 1747.  71 

meau,  of  whom  she  is  the  professed  puffer,  and  who  of  course 
will  suffer  no  rival  ;  besides  this  there  is  an  original  sin 
clinging  to  you  that  must  damn  you  for  ever  in  her  estima- 
tion, and  for  which  she  will  never  forgive  you — You  are  a 
Genevese."  Whereupon  he  explained  to  me  that  the  Abbe 
Hubert,  who  labored  under  the  same  misfortune,  and  who 
was  a  sincere  friend  of  M.  de  La  Popliniere,  had  exerted 
himself  to  his  utmost  to  prevent  his  marrying  the  lady,  whom 
he  knew  well  ;  and  that  after  the  marriage  she  had  vowed 
him  an  implicable  hatred — a  hatred  she  extended  to  all 
Genevese.  "Though  La  Popliniere,"  added  he,  "feels 
friendly  towards  you,  and  I  know  it,  do  not  count  on  his 
support.  He  is  in  love  with  his  wife  :  she  hates  you — she 
is  vindictive  and  artful  :  you'll  never  do  any  thing  in  that 
quarter."     So  I  took  the  hint. 

This  same  Gauffecourt  did  me  about  this  same  time  a 
service  I  stood  in  great  need  of.  I  had  just  lost  my  virtu- 
ous father,  then  about  sixty  years  of  age.  I  felt  this  blow 
less  severely  than  I  should  have  done  at  any  other  time, 
when  my  attention  was  less  absorbed  in  the  embarrassments 
of  my  situation.  While  he  lived  I  had  never  felt  like  claim- 
ing the  portion  of  my  mother's  fortune  that  fell  to  me,  and 
of  which  he  received  the  little  income.  After  his  death, 
however,  I  had  no  such  scruple.  But  the  lack  of  legal  proof 
of  the  death  of  my  brother  presented  a  difficulty.  This 
Gauffecourt  undertook  to  remove,  and  remove  it  he  did 
through  the  able  services  of  De  Lolme  the  advocate.  As 
I  stood  in  the  utmost  need  of  this  little  aid,  and  as  the  event 
was  doubtful,  I  was  awaiting  a  definite  decision  with  the 
liveliest  anxiety.  One  evening  on  returning  home,  I  found 
a  letter  which  I  knew  contained  it.  I  took  it  up  with  a 
tremor  of  impatience  of  which  I  was  inwardly  ashamed. 
"  What,"  said  I  to  myself  with  disdain,  "  will  Jean  Jacques 
suffer  himself  to  be  thus  overcome  by  interest  and  curiosity  ?" 
Forthwith  I  laid  the  letter  unopened  on  my  mantel-piece, 
undressed  myself,  went  quietly  to  bed,  slept  better  than 
usual,  and  got  up  quite  late  next  morning,  without  a  thought 
about  my  letter.  As  I  was  dressing  myself  it  caught  my 
eye  :  I  broke  the  seal  very  leisurely,  and  found  a  bill  of  ex- 
change within.  I  had  at  once  a  variety  of  pleasures,  but 
I  can  swear  that  the  keenest  of  all  was  the  pleasure  of 


12  KOUSSEAU'S  CONFESSIONS. 

mastering  myself.  I  could  mention  twenty  such  circum- 
stances in  my  life,  but  I  am  too  hurried  to  be  able  to  tell 
all.  I  sent  a  small  part  of  the  money  to  my  poor  Maman, 
regretting  with  tears  the  time  when  I  should  have  laid  the 
whole  at  her  feet,  .  Her  letters  bore  all  of  them  evident 
marks  of  her  distress.  She  sent  me  piles  of  receipes  and 
secrets  with  which  she  pretended  I  might  make  both  our 
fortunes.  Already  had  the  feeling  of  her  wretchedness 
cramped  her  heart  and  mind.  The  little  I  sent  her  fell  a 
prey  to  the  knaves  that  beset  her  ;  while  she  got  no  good 
of  it.  And  so  I  got  wearied  of  dividing  my  little  pittance 
with  the  wretches,  especially  after  tlie  vain  attempt  1  had 
made  to  free  her  from  their  clutches — an  attempt  of  which 
I  shall  have  hereafter  to  give  some  account. 

Time  slipped  by,  and  my  money  with  it.  There  were 
two  of  us — four  indeed,  nay,  to  speak  more  correctly  seven 
or  eight  ;  for,  though  Therese  was  disinterested  to  a  de- 
gree of  which  there  are  few  examples,  her  mother  did  not 
resemble  her  in  this  respect.  No  sooner  did  she  see  her- 
self set  on  her  legs  again  by  my  care,  than  she  brought 
along  her  whole  tribe  to  share  the  fruits.  Sisters,  sons, 
daughters,  grand-daughters,  the  entire  list  of  her  connec- 
tions in  fact,  excepting  her  eldest  daughter,  married  to  the 
director  of  coaches  at  Angers,  crowded  in.  Everything  I 
did  for  Therese  was  by  her  mother  thwarted  from_  its 
original  purpose,  and  got  into  the  maws  of  these  rapacious 
wretches.  As  I  had  not  to  do  with  an  avaricious  person, 
and  not  being  under  the  influence  of  a  mad  passion,  I  was 
not  guilty  of  any  follies.  Satisfied  with  supporting  The- 
rese genteelly,  though  without  luxury,  and  sheltered  from 
any  pressing  necessity,  I  consented  to  let  all  her  earnings 
go  to  her  mother  ;  nor  did  I  confine  myself  to  this.  By  a 
fatality,  however,  which  seems  demonically  to  pursue  me, 
whilst  Maman  was  preyed  upon  by  a  set  of  scoundrels, 
Therese  was  preyed  upon  by  her  connections,  nor  could  I 
on  either  hand  do  any  thing  that  would  benefit  her  for 
whom  it  was  destined.  It  was  singular  that  the  youngest 
child  of  Madam  Le  Yasseur,  and  the  only  one  that  did  not 
receive  a  portion,  was  the  only  one  that  supported  her 
father  and  mother.  Poor  girl,  after  having  long  been 
beaten  by  her  brothers,  sisters,  nieces  even,  she  was  now 


PKKIOD  II.   BOOK  VII.   1145 1741.  13 

plundered  by  them  all,  without  her  being  any  more  able  to 
defend  herself  from  their  thefts  than  from  their  blows. 
There  was  but  one  of  her  relatives,  a  niece,  named  Gotou 
Leduc,  that  was  at  all  amiable  or  mild  in  disposition, 
though  she,  too,  was  spoiled  by  the  lessons  and  example  of 
the  others.  As  I  often  saw  them  together,  I  gave  them 
the  names  they  were  in  the  habit  of  applying  to  each  other  : 
I  called  the  niece  'niece',  and  the  aunt  'aunt';  while  they 
both  called  me  'uncle.'  Hence  the  name  of  '  Aunt\  which 
I  continued  to  apply  to  Therese,  and  which  my  friends 
used  to  repeat  by  way  of  joke. 

You  may  well  think  that,  thus  situated,  I  had  not  a 
moment  to  lose  before  attempting  to  get  myself  out  of  my 
difficulties.  Judging  that  M.  de  Richelieu  had  forgotten 
me,  and  my  hopes  of  court  being  crushed,  I  made  some  at- 
tempts in  Paris  to  have  my  Opera  brought  out,  but  met 
with  difficulties  that  required  time  to  surmount ;  whilst  my 
necessities  were  becoming  daily  more  urgent.  It  occurred 
to  me  to  present  my  little  comedie  of  Narcisse  to  the  theatre 
des  Italkns.  It  was  received,  and  so  obtained  me  the  free- 
dom of  the  house,  which  gave  me  great  pleasure  ; — but 
that  was  all.  I  could  never  manage  to  get  my  piece  per- 
formed ;  and  tired  of  paying  my  court  to  players,  I  let  them 
go  to  the  devil.  At  length,  I  had  recourse  to  the  last  ex- 
pedient that  remained,  and  which  by  the  way,  was  the 
only  one  I  should  have  attempted.  While  frequenting  the 
house  of  M.  de  La  Popliniere,  I  had  neglected  the  Dupin 
family.  The  two  ladies,  though  relatives,  were  not  on  good 
terms,  and  never  visited  each  other.  There  was  not  the 
least  intercourse  between  the  two  families,  and  Thieriot 
was  the  only  person  that  visited  both.  He  was  desired  to 
try  and  get  me  back  to  j\I.  Dupin's.  M.  de  Fraucueil 
was  then  pursuing  a  course  of  study  on  natural  history  and 
chemistry,  and  collecting  a  cabinet.  I  think  he  asi^ired  to 
becoming  a  member  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences.  To  this 
end,  he  intended  writing  a  book,  and  judged  that  I  might 
be  of  use  to  him  in  the  undertaking.  Madam  Dupin  who, 
for  her  part,  had  a  work  in  contemplation  also,  had  much 
the  same  views  with  respect  to  me.  They  wished  to  have 
me  between  them  as  a  sort  of  secretary,  and  this  was  the 
object  of  Thieriot's  invitations.  I  required,  to  begin  with, 
II.  4 


14:  Rousseau's  confessions. 

that  M.  de  Francueil  should  use  his  credit  along  with  the 
iufluence  of  Jelyote  to  have  my  Opera  brought  out.     To 
this   he   cooseuted.     The  '  Muses  Galantes '   was  rehearsed 
several  times  at  the  Magasin,  aud  afterwards  at  the  Grand 
theatre     There  was  a  very  large  audience  present  at  the 
great   rehearsal,    and    several   passages    were    highly   ap- 
plauded.    But  spite  of  all  this,  I  felt,  myself,  during  the 
execution   (which,   by  the  way,   was  very  miserably  con- 
ducted by  Rebel;,  that  the  piece  would  not  go,  and  that  it 
could  not  even  be  brought  out  without  great  alterations. 
I  therefore  withdrew  it  without  saying  a  word,  or  exposing 
myself  to  a  refusal ;  but   I  plainly  perceived  by  several  in- 
dications that  the  work,  even  had  it  been  perfect,  could  not 
have  succeeded.     M.  de  Francueil  had,  to  be  sure    prom- 
ised me  to  get  it  repeated,  but  not  that  it  should  be  re- 
ceived.    He  kept  his  word  to  the  letter.     I  have  always 
thought  I  perceived  on   this   occasion,   as    also  on  many 
others  that  neither  he  nor  Madam  Dupin  cared  about  my 
attaining  to  an  established  reputation  in  the  world,  for  fear 
perhaps  that,  on  the  publication  of  their  books,  it  should 
be  suspected  they  had   grafted  their   talents  upon   mine 
However,  as  Madam  Dupin  always  esteemed  my  intellect 
to  be  of  a  very  mediocre  order,  and  never  employed  me  but 
in  writing  under  her  dictation,  or  in  researches  of  mere 
erudition,  this  reproach,  as  far  as  regards  her,  would  have 
been  very  unjust. 

(1U1-1U9  )  This  last  failure  completed  my  discou- 
rao-ement-  I  abandoned  all  idea  of  fame  or  advancement  ; 
and  without  further  troubling  myself  about  my  talents,  real 
or  fancied,  talents  that  prospered  so  little  in  my  hands, 
I  devoted  my  whole  time  and  attention  to  earning  a  sup- 
port for  myself  and  my  Therese  after  what  fashion  soever  it 
mio-ht  please  those  who  might  undertake  to  provide  theTefor. 
Ac°cordin<'-ly  I  attached  myself  entirely  to  Madam  Dupm 
and  M  de  Francueil.  This  did  not  place  me  in  very  great 
opulence  •  for  the  eight  or  nine  hundred  livres  I  received 
the  lirst  two  years  scarce  provided  for  my  most  urgent  ne- 
cessities, obliged  as  1  was  to  lodge  in  their  neighborhood,  a 
part  of  the  city  in  which  rents  are  quite  high,  in  lurnisned 
chambers,  and  having  at  the  same  time  to  pay  for  another 
lodgino-  at  the  extremity  of  Paris,  at  the  farthest  end  of  rue 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VII.    1747 — 1749.  75 

St.  Jacques,  whither,  be  the  weather  as  it  might,  I  went 
almost  every  eveuiug  to  take  supper.  I  soon  got  into  the 
way  of  my  new  occupation,  of  which,  indeed,  I  became 
rather  fond.  I  tooli  a  fancy  to  chemistry,  and,  in  company 
with  M.  de  Francueil,  went  through  several  courses  with 
M.  Rouelle  ;  and  we  began  to  scribble  paper  with  our  sense 
or  nonsense,  before  we  knew  even  the  first  elements  of  the 
science.  In  1T47,  we  went  and  passed  the  autumn  in  Tou- 
raine,  at  the  castle  of  Chenonceaux,  a  royal  mansion  on  the 
Cher,  built  by  Henry  II.  for  Diana  of  Poitiers,  whose 
ciphers  are  still  to  be  seen,  and  now  owned  by  M.  Dupin, 
Fermier  General.  We  amused  ourselves  very  agreeably  in 
this  fine  place,  and  lived  splendidly  :  I  became  as  fat  as  a 
monk.  Music  was  a  favorite  relaxation.  I  composed  sev- 
eral vocal  trios,  replete  with  quite  powerful  harmony,  and  to 
which  I  may  perhaps  again  recur  in  my  supplement,  if  I 
ever  carry  out  the  idea  of  having  one.  Comedies,  too,  we 
used  to  play.  I  wrote  a  three-act  piece  in  fifteen  days,  en- 
titled The  Rash  Engageimnt  (L'  Engagement  temeraire), 
which  will  be  found  among  my  papers.  Its  sole  merit  con- 
sists in  its  being  full  of  goyety.  There  were  several  other 
little  things  I  composed,  amongst  the  rest,  a  poem  entitled 
The  Alley  of  Sylvia  (L'Allee  de  Sylvie) — the  name  applied 
to  an  alley  in  the  park  on  the  banks  of  the  Cher.  All  this 
too  without  my  discontinuing  my  chemical  labors  or  inter- 
rupting my  engagements  with  Madam  Dupin. 

Whilst  I  was  growing  fat  at  Chenonceaux,  my  poor 
Theresa  was  growing  fat  after  a  quite  other  fashion  in  Paris  ; 
so  that  on  my  return,  I  found  the  structure,  whose  founda- 
tion I  had  laid,  in  a  greater  state  of  forwardness  than  I  had 
looked  for.  This,  considering  the  situation  in  which  I  was 
placed,  would  have  plunged  me  into  the  deepest  embarrass- 
ment, had  not  one  of  my  messmates  put  me  on  the  only  way 
there  was  of  getting  out  of  the  coil.  This  is  one  of  those 
essential  matters  which  I  cannot  narrate  with  too  much  sim- 
plicity, as,  in  commenting  thereon,  I  must  necessarily  either 
inculpate  or  excuse  myself,  whereas  here  I  ought  to  do  neither. 

During  Altuna's  stay  in  Paris,  instead  of  going  and 
eating  at  a  restaurant,  we  used  ordinarily  to  take 
our  meals  in  the  neighborhood,  at  a  Madam  La  Selle's, 
almost  opposite  the  cul-de-sac  de  I'Opera.     Said  Madam 


-jQ  ROUSSEAU'S  CONFESSIONS. 

La    Selle    was   the    wife   of    a    tailor,   and    gave    poor 
enough    board,  though   her    table   was   much   frequeiied 
on  account  of  Ihe  good  and  reliable  company  to  be  found 
there  •  for   they  received  uo  inconnu,  and  you  had  to  get 
an   ntroduction  from  one  of  the  habitues.     Commander  de 
GraviUe,  an  old  debauchee,  full  of  wit  and  pojites.e    but 
bawdy  very  lod-ed  at  the  house  and  attracted  thereto  a 
set   of  r  Ucking?  brilliant   young  fellows   in   the   way  of 
n'ousquetaries  and  officers  of  the  guards.     Command  rde 
Nonant,  chevalier   of  all  the  Opera  girls,  brought  us  bs 
daily  budget  of  news  from  his  motley  crew      M.  D^plessis, 
a  retired°lieutenant,a  goodand  -f  ."^^^r^hrvout 
Aucelot,*  an  officer  in  the  mousquetanes,  kept  the  young 
ftuows  in  a  certain  kind  of  order.     The  table  was  also 
frequented  by  merchants,  financiers  and  contractors  as  M 
de  Besse    M.  de  Forcade  and  others  whose  names  I  have 
forcfot#en-all  of  them  good,  polite  fellows  and  men  distm- 
guilhrd  in  their  profession.     In  .^^J-^  ^^P^^^f  ,%S 
of  every  station  were  to  be  met  with  at  Madam  La  Sellt  s 
?he  only  exception  was  in  the  case  of  Abbes  and  men  of 
the  cloUi,  whom  it  was  agreed  upon  never  to  a,dmit      Our 
table,  crowded  though  it  was,  was  gay  m  the  extreme,  with- 
out being  turbulent  ;  they  had   learned   the   fine  art   of 
bhck-ua?ding  without  coarseness.     The  old  commander, 
^ith  all  his  Imutty  stories,  smutty  as  to  substaoce  never 
lost  his  old-court  pohtesse,  and  he  never   let  fall  a  loose 
thing  that  was  not  redeemed  by  its  droll  ^. ting    so  that 
the  women  themselves  had  to  let  it  pass.     His  style  became 

*  It  was  toM.  Ancelot  I  gave  a  little  comedy  I  had  P^^*  together 
«t;fit^  rhP  Prisoners  of  War  (Les  Prisonmers  de  la  guerre).  Ihis  1 
;"  o  Ift!^  th^~:;:rf  tJe  Fre^-h  met  .vith  in  Bavaria  a.KjBohem.a^ 
I  could  never  muster  courage  enough  either  to  -^'--^^^^^^  S^  .^^"^jS^  ^J^ 
to  show  it  to  any  one,  and  that  for  the  singular  reason  that  "^'ther  tt'« 
King  of  France  nor  the  French  people  ^vere  perhapsever  more  highly 
Uuded  nor  praised  ^^•ith  more  hearty  sincerity  than  m  my  piece.  P  o- 
fes  d  republican  and  radical  as  I  .-as,  I  dared  not  avow  myself  he 
pre^vri  t  of  a  nation  whose  principles  and  politics  were  exactly  the 
f^er'^e  of  mine.  More  profoundly  grieved  at  the  «-  °>-'""''f.«f  J;.=^"J"^ 
[hin  the  French  themselves,  1  was  still  afraid  people  would  construe 
n?o  flatterv  and  fawning  the  testimony  of  a  sincere  attachment.  The 
"erld  when  this  atUchtnent  was  iirst  formed  and  the  cause  thereof  I 
have  mentioned  in  Period  First.* 


Vol.  I.  Tr. 


PERIOD  11.     BOOK  VII.       1*141 1749  T1 

the  standard  for  the  whole  table  :  the  young  fellows  related 
theu'  adventures  among  the  ladies  with  equal  freedom  and 
grace  ;  and  these  narratives  were  all  the  more  complete, 
as  the  Seraglio  was  at  the  door,  for  the  alley  which  led  to 
Madam  La'Selle's  was  the  same  into  which  entered  the 
shop  of  La  Duchapt,   the  celebrated  viarchande  de  modes, 
who  had  at  that  time  some  very  pretty  girls,  with  whom 
our  fellows  used  to  go  and  chat  before  and  after  dinner.     I 
should  have  amused  myself  like  the  rest,  had  I  been  able 
to  muster  up  courage  enough.     It  needed  but  to  enter  as 
they  did, — I  never  dared.     As  to  Madam  La  Selle,  I  con- 
tinued to  go  and  eat  at  her  house  quite  often  after  the 
departure  of  Altuna.     Here  I  learned   a  mass  of  amusing 
anecdotes,  and  caught,  too,  little  by  little,  not,  thank  God, 
the  morals   but  the   maxims    I    found    reigning  supreme. 
Decent  people  gone  to  the  devil,  cuckoled  husbands,  seduced 
women,  clandestine  accouchments,  were  the  staple  of  their 
talk,  and  he  was  always  most  honored  who  best  filled  the 
Foundling  Hospital.    I,  too,  caught  the  infection  :  my  mode 
of  thinking  shaped  itself  after  that  in  vogue  amongst  these 
very  amiable,  and  at  the   bottom   worthy  enough    people. 
Said  I  to  myself,  "  since  'tis  the  custom  of  the  country,  one 
may  as  well  do  in  Rome  as  Home  does."     This  was  just  the 
expedient  I  was  in  search  of  !     Boi41y  and  without  the 
smallest  scruple  I  determined  on  my  course  ;  and  the  only 
person  I  had  to  bring  round  was  Therese  whom  I  had  all 
the  trouble  in  the  world  to  induce  to  adopt  this  the  sole 
means  of  saving  her  honor.     Her  mother,  however,  who, 
besides,  dreaded  any  brats  coming  along  to  give  her  new 
trouble,  came  to  my  aid,  so  she  gave  in.     We  made  choice 
of  a  prudent  and  trusty  midwife,  called  Mile.  Gouin,  who 
lived  at   Point   Saiut-Eustache,  and   when    her  time  had 
come,  Therese  was  conveyed  by  her  mother  to  la  Gouin's  to 
go  through  her  confinement.     Thither  I  went  to  see  her 
several  times,  and  I  brought  her   a  cipher  which  I  redupli- 
cated on  two  cards,  one  of  which  was  put  into  the  child's 
linen.     The  baby  was   depo.sited  by  the  midwife  at    the 
ofiBce  of  the  Foundling  Hospital,  after  the   ordinary  man- 
ner.    The  year  following,  the  same   inconvenience  and   the 
same  expedient,  excepting  the  cipher,  which  was  neglected. 
Kot  a  bit  more  reflection  on  my   part  ;  not  a  bit  more 


Kg  Rousseau's  confessions. 

approbation  on  that  of  the  mother  :  with  many  a  deep- 
drawn  si-h,  she  obeyed  Reader,  you  will  hereatter  see  all 
the  vicissitudes  this  fata,  conduct  step  by  step  produced  on 
my  mode  of  thinking,  as  also  on  my  destmy.  For  the  pres- 
ent let  us  confine  ourselves  to  the  epoch  spoken  ot.  ioo 
often  will  its  most  bitter  and  unforeseen  consequences  torce 
me  to  return  thereto.  .  c    +  „„ 

This  period  is  also  noticeable  as  the  time  of  my  first  ac- 
quaintance with  Madam  d' Epinay,  a  name  which  will  so 
often  recur  in  these  memoirs.     She  was  formerly  a  Mile 
d'Esclavelles,  and  had  just  married  M.  d'Epmay,  a  son  ot 
M  de  Lalive  de  Bellegarde,  Fermier-general.    Her  husband 
was  like  M.  de  Francueil,  a  musician.     She,  too,  was  tond 
of  music,  and  the  love  of  this  art  became  a  very  close  bond 
of  union  between  us  three.     M.  de  Francuei    introduced 
me  to  Madam  d'Epinay,  and  we  sometimes  took  supper  to- 
gether at  her  house.     She  was  amiable,  witty,  talented— 
surely  a  desirable  acquaintance  to  make  1     She  had,  how- 
ever a  friend,  called  Mile.  d'Ette,  who  passed  for  a  wicked 
vixen,  and  who  lived  along  with  the  chevalier  de  v  alory— 
a  personage  whose  temper  was  reputed  none  of  the   best. 
Her  acquaintance  with  these  two  persons  was,  I  think,  pre- 
iudicial  to  Madam  d'Epinay,  to  whom  nature  had  given, 
alon«-  with  a  very  exacting  temper,  most  excellent  qualities 
to  re°"-ulate  and  redeem  her  waywardness.     M.  de  i  rancu^ 
eil  inspired  her  with  a  share  of  the  friendship  he  felt  for  me 
and  told  me  of  his  liaisons  with  her,  of  which,  of  course,  i 
would  not  speak  here,  had  they  not  afterwards  become  so 
public  as  not  to  be  hid  even  from   M.  d'Epinay      M.  de 
Francueil  went  so  far  as  to  confide  to  me  secrets  of  a  most 
sino-ular  nature  touching  this  lady-matters  of  which  she 
her'^self  never  spoke  to  me  nor  suspected  me  aware  ot  tor  1 
never  have  opened  my  lips  either  to  her  or  any  one  else  on 
the  subject,  and  I  never  shall.*     This  confidence  from  all 
sides  rendered  my  situation  very  embarrassing,  especially 
with  Madam  de  Francueil,  who  knew  enough  of  me  not  to 


am 


*  The  secrets  M  de  Francueil  confided  to  Rousseau  touching  Jladf 
d'Epinav  are  no  longer  .-^uch  to  any  one.  The  Memoires  published  in  this 
ladv's  name  reveal  that  M.  d'Epinay  had  communicated  a  malaUie 
honteuse  to  his  wife,  and  she  transmitted  it  to  her  lover  [M.  de  Irancueil] 
■who  came  near  dying  of  it.     Tr. 


PERIOD  II.    BOOK  VII.    1747 — 1749.  79 

mistrust  me,  though  intimate  with  her  rival.  I  did  my  best 
to  console  the  poor  woman,  wliose  husband  certainly  did 
not  return  the  affection  she  felt  for  hira.  I  listened  to  these 
three  persons  separately,  and  kept  their  secrets  with  the 
utmost  fidelity,  so  that  not  one  of  the  three  ever  drew  from 
me  the  other's,  and  this  without  any  attempt  on  my  part 
to  conceal  from  either  of  the  women  my  attachment  for  her 
rival.  Madam  de  Francueil,  who  often  tried  to  make  a 
tool  of  me,  met  with  a  flat  refusal,  and  Madam  d'Epinay, 
on  attempting  once  to  get  me  to  take  a  letter  to  Francueil, 
not  only  met  with  the  same,' but  it  was  accompanied  by  the 
downright  declaration  that  if  she  wished  to  drive  me  for 
ever  from  her  house,  she  had  but  to  make  such  a  proposi- 
tion again.  I  must,  however,  do  Madam  d'Epinay  the  jus- 
tice to  say  that  far  from  my  course's  seeming  to  displease 
her,  she  spoke  of  it  to  Francueil  with  praise,  and  received 
me  not  a  whit  the  worse  for  all  that.  Thus  it  was  that, 
amidst  the  stormy  relations  of  three  persons  whom  I  had 
to  manage,  on  whom  in  a  measure  I  was  dependant,  and 
for  whom  I  felt  an  attachment,  I  jjreserved  to  the  last  their 
friendship,  esteem,  confidence,  simply  by  behaving  with 
mildness  and  complaisance,  accompanied  by  the  utmost  firm- 
ness and  straightforwardness.  Spite  of  my  stupidity  and 
awkwardness.  Madam  d'Epinay  would  have  me  join  in  the 
amusements  of  La  Chevrette,  a  chateau  near  by  Saint  Denis, 
belonging  to  M.  de  Bellegarde.  Here  there  was  a  theatre 
where  they  often  had  performances.  They  gave  me  a  part 
which  I  studied  for  six  months  without  let-up,  and  in  which, 
when  the  representation-evening  came,  I  had  to  be  prompted 
from  one  end  to  the  other.  This  trial  stopped  them  from 
ever  giving  me  any  more  parts  to  play. 

My  acquaintance  with  Madam  d'Epinay  brought  me  an 
introduction  to  her  sister-in-law.  Mile,  de  Bellegarde,  who 
shortly  afterwards  became  Countess  de  Houdetot.  The 
first  time  1  saw  her  was  on  the  eve  of  her  marriage,  when 
she  conversed  with  me  for  a  long  time  with  that  charming 
familiarity  natural  to  her.  I  found  her  very  amiable, 
though  I  was  very  far  from  foreseeing  that  this  young  per- 
son was  one  day  to  sway  my  life's  destiny,  and  draw  me, 
though  innocently,  into  the  abyss  in  which  I  am  now 
plunged. 


80  EODSSEAU'S  CONFESSIOXS. 

Though  I  have  not  spoken  of  Diderot  since  my  return 
from  Venice,  nor  yet,  by  the  way,  of  my  friend  M.  Roguin, 
I  nevertheless  neglected  neither  of  them.  With. the  nrsl, 
especially,  I  became  daily  more  intimate.  While  I  had  a 
Therese,  he  had  a  Nanette,  which  was  another  coincidence; 
but  the  difference  was  that  my  Therese,  a  woman  of  as  fine 
a  figure  as  his  Nanette,  was  of  a  sweet  temper  and  an  amia- 
ble disposition,  formed  by  nature  to  gain  and  fix  the  affec- 
tions of  an  honest  man  ;  whilst  his,  the  prating  shrew,  had 
nothing  about  her  to  redeem  her  bad  education.  However, 
he  married  her.  This  was  very  well  done  of  him,  if  he  had 
promised  to.  For  my  part,  having  promised  no  such  thing, 
I  was  in  no  hurry  to  imitate  him. 

I  had  also  formed  an  intimacy  with  the  Abbe„de  Con- 
dillac,  who  had,  at  that  time,  no  more  of  a  name  in  litera- 
ture than  I  had,  but  who  gave  ample  promise  of  what  he 
was  ere  long  to  become.  I  was  perhaps  the  first  that  per- 
ceived his  powers,  and  appreciated  their  value.  He  seemed 
to  like  me,  too  ;  and  whilst  I  was  shut  up  in  my  chamber 
in  John  Saint  Denis  street,  near  the  Opera  house,  composing 
my  act  of  Hesiod,  he  sometimes  came  to  see  me,  and  we 
would  club  together  for  a  cosy  little  dinner.  He  was  then 
engaged  on  his  JEssay  on  the  Origin  of  Human  Knowledge, 
which  was  his  first  work.*  After  finishing  it,  the  trouble 
was  to  find  a  publisher  to  bring  it  out.  The  Paris  publish- 
ers are  arrogant  and  hard  towards  a  new  beginner  ;  and 
metophysics,  then  very  little  in  fashion,  was  not  a  very  in- 
viting subject.  I  spoke  to  Diderot  of  Condillac  and  of  his 
work,  and  introduced  them  to  each  other.  They  had  a 
strong  affinity  for  each  other,  and  so  were  of  course  soon  on 
the  best  of  terms.  Diderot  induced  Durand,  the  publisher, 
to  take  the  Abbe's  manuscript,  and  this  great  metaphysi- 
cian received,  and  by  a  favor  almost,  a  hundred  crowns  for 
his  first  work,  which  he  would  not  have  got  itself  had  it  not 
been  for  me.  As  we  lived  in  parts  of  the  city  far  removed 
from  each  other,  we  all  three  of  us  met  once  a  week  in  the 
Palais-Royal,  and  went  and  took  dinner  at  the  hotel  du 
Panier-Fleuri.  The.se  weekly  dinners  must  have  been  ex- 
tremely pleasing  to  Diderot,  for  he,  who  almost  invariably 
broke  his  appointments,  never  missed  a  single  one  of  these. 

*  Published  in  1747,  in  two  vols     12ino.      Tr. 


PERIOD  II.   BOOK  VII.   1141 1749.         81 

At  our  little  meetings,  I  formed  the  plan  of  a  periodi- 
cal sheet  entitled  Le  Persijleior  (The  Jeerer),  which  Diderot 
and  I  were  to  edit  alternately.  I  sketched  the  first  sheet, 
and  this  brought  me  acquainted  with  D'Alembert,  to  whom 
Diderot  had  mentioned  the  plan.  Unforeseen  events 
frustrated  our  intentions,  and  the  project  was  carried  no 
farther. 

These  two  authors  had  just  undertaken  the  Didionnaire 
Encydopedique,  which  at  first  was  simply  intended  to  be  a 
species  of  translation  from  Chambers,  something  like  that 
of  James'  "  Medical  Dictionary,"  which  Diderot  had  just 
finished.  Diderot  would  have  me  take  some  share  in  this 
second  undertaking,  and  proposed  that  I  should  do  the  mu- 
sical part,  which  I  agreed  to,  and  which  I  executed  very 
hastily  and  very  badly  in  the  three  months  he  had  given  me, 
as  to  the  various  authors  engaged  on  the  work.  I  however  was 
the  only  one  ready  at  the  prescribed  time.  I  sent  him  my 
manuscript,  which  I  had  copied  out  neatly  by  a  footman  of 
M.  de  Francueil's,  named  Dupont,  who  wrote  very  well, 
and  to  whom  I  paid  ten  crowns  out  of  my  own  pocket,  and 
for  which  I  was  never  reimbursed.  Diderot  had  promised 
me  a  reward  on  the  part  of  the  publishers,  of  which  he  ne- 
ver afterwards  spoke  to  me,  nor  did  I  to  him. 

This  undertaking  of  the  Encyclopcedia  was  interrupted 
by  his  imprisonment.  The  Pensees  Philosophiques  f  Philoso- 
phic Thoughts)  occasioned  him  some  little  trouble,  though 
it  amounted  to  nothing  particular.  Not  so  was  it  with  the 
Letter  Concerning  the  Blind  (Lettre  sur  les  Aveugles),  which 
contained  nothing  reprehensible,  excepting  certain  personal 
allusions  that  shocked  Madam  Dupre  de  Saint  Maur  and  M. 
de  Reaumur,  and  on  account  whereof  he  was  confined  in  the 
donjon  of  Yincennes.  It  would  be  impossible  to  describe 
the  anguish  I  felt  at  the  misfortune  of  my  friend.  My  fatal 
imagination,  which  ever  inclines  to  make  bad  worse,  took 
fright.  I  pictured  him  as  imprisoned  for  life  ;  and  became 
almost  distracted  at  the  thought.  I  wrote  to  Madam  de 
Pompadour,  conjuring  her  to  obtain  his  release,  or  else  ob- 
tain permission  that  1  should  be  imprisoned  along  with  him. 
I  received  no  reply  to  my  letter, — it  was  too  irrational 
to  be  efficacious  ;  and  I  do  not  flatter  myself  that  it 
contributed  to  tlie  alleviation  shortly  afterwards  granted 
11.  4* 


82  Rousseau's  confessions. 

to  poor  Diderot's  captivity.  But  this  I  can  say,  that  had 
it  lasted  much  longer  with  the  same  rigor,  I  should  have 
died  of  despair  'neath  that  hated  doujou.  However,  if  my 
letter  produced  but  little  effect,  I  took  no  great  credit  for 
it,  for  I  mentioned  it  to  but  very  few  people,  and  never  to 
Diderot  himself. 


BOOK  VIII. 

1U9. 

I  OUGHT,  at  the  end  of  the  preceding  book,  to  have 
made  a  pause.  With  the  present  one  begins,  in  its  primal 
origin,  the  long  succession  of  my  misfortunes.    ■ 

Having  lived  with  two  of  the  most  brilliant  families  in 
Paris,  I  had  not  failed,  spite  of  my  lack  of  push,  to  pick  up 
certain  acquaintances.  At  Madam  Dupin's  I  had,  among 
others,  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  young  prince  heredi- 
tary of  Saxe-Gotha  and  Baron  de  Thun,  his  tutor.  At 
Madam  La  Popliniere's  I  formed  an  intimacy  with  M.  Se- 
quy,  a  friend  of  Baroa  de  Thun,  and  well  known  in  the 
literary  world  by  his  beautiful  edition  of  Rousseau.  The 
Baron  invited  M.  Sequy  and  myself  to  go  and  pass  a  day 
or  two  at  Fontenoy-sous-Bois,  where  the  Prince  had  a 
house.  Thither  we  went.  While  passing  Viucennes,  I 
experienced  a  lasceration  of  heart  at  the  sight  of  the  don- 
jon, the  effect  of  which  the  Baron  perceived  on  my  counte- 
nance. At  supper,  the  Prince  spoke  of  the  confinement  of 
Diderot.  The  Baron,  to  draw  me  out,  accused  the  prisoner 
of  being  imprudent  :  however  this  may  have  been,  I  cer- 
tainly was  so  in  the  impetuous  manner  in  which  I  defended 
him.  They  pardoned  this  excess  of  zeal,  inspired  as  it 
was,  by  a  friend's  misfortune,  and  the  conversation  turned 
on  something  else.  There  were  two  Germans  attached  to 
the  Prince's  service  present,  namely,  M.  Kupffell,  a  very 
able  man,  then  his  chaplain,  and  who  afterwards,  having 
supplanted  the  Baron,  became  his  tutor  ;  and  a  young 
man,  named  M.  Grimm,  who  was  in  his  service  as  reader, 
waiting  meanwhile  for  something  to  turn  up,  and  whose  very 
slender  outfit  was  palpable  proof  of  how  pressing  was  the 
need  he  was  in  of  something's  doing  so.  From  this  very 
evening,  Kupffell  and  I  began  an  acquaintance  that  soon 
ripened  into  friendship.  With  Sir  Grimm  things  did  not 
go  on  Quite  so  rapidly  ;  he  made  but  little  effort  to  put 


84  Rousseau's  confessions. 

himself  forward, — how  different  from  that  presumptuous 
air  prosperity  afterwards  induced  !  Next  day  at  dinner, 
the  conversation  turned  on  music,  on  which  he  spoke  well. 
I  was  transported  with  delight  on  learning  that  be  could 
play  accompaniments  on  the  harpsichord.  After  dinner, 
music  was  brought,  and  we  had  it  all  day,  accompanied 
by  the  prince's  harpsichord.  Thus  commenced  that  friend- 
ship, at  first  so  agreeable,  but  at  last  so  fatal  to  me, 
whereof  I  shall  hereafter  have  so  much  to  say. 

On  my  return  to  Paris,  I  learned  the  agreeable  intel- 
ligence that  Diderot  was  released  from  the  donjon,  and  that 
they  had  given  him  the  chateau  and  park  of  Vincennes,  on 
parole,  as  his  prison,  with  permission  to  see  his  friends. 
How  hard  was  it  for  me  not  to  be  able  to  fly  to  him  on  the 
instant  1  but,  detained  for  two  or  three  days  at  Madam 
Dnpin's  by  indispensable  affairs,  after  ages  of  impatience  I 
hastened  to  the  arms  of  my  friend.  Ineffable  moment ! 
He  was  not  alone  ;  d'Alembert  and  the  treasurer  of  the 
Sainte-Chapelle  were  with  him.  On  entering,  I  saw  but 
him  ;  I  made  but  one  leap,  one  cry — I  riveted  my  face  to 
his,  and  pressed  him  closely  in  my  arms,  without  speaking 
in  any  other  way  than  by  my  tears  and  sobs,  affection  and  joy 
all  but  stifling  me.  His  first  act,  on  leaving  my  arms,  was 
to  turn  towards  the  ecclesiastic  and  say  to  him,  "  You  see, 
sir,  how  my  friends  love  me  ! "  Quite  absorbed  as  I  was 
in  my  emotion,  I  did  not  at  the  time  reflect  upon  this  way 
of  taking  advantage  thereof;  but  on  revolving  over  the 
matter  subsequently,  I  have  always  thought  that,  had  I 
been  in  Diderot's  place,  this  would  not  have  been  exactly 
the  first  idea  that  would  have  occurred  to  me. 

I  found  him  greatly  affected  by  his  imprisonment.  The 
donjon  had  made  a  terrible  impression  on  him  ;  and  al- 
though he  was  agreeably  situated  in  the  chateau,  and  was 
at  liberty  to  walk  where  he  pleased  in  a  park  unenclosed 
even  by  walls,  yet  he  wanted  the  companionship  of  his 
friends  to  prevent  him  from  giving  way  to  melancholy. 
As  I  assuredly  sympathized  the  most  deeply  with  him  in 
his  suffering.'',  1  thought  I  would  also  be  the  friend  the 
sight  of  whom  would  give  him  most  consolation  ;  and  so, 
every  second  day  at  tlie  farthest,  notwithstanding  my  very 
presssing  engagements,  I  went  out,   sometimes  alone,  and 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  VIII.      1749.  85 

at  other  times   with  his  wife,  and  passed   the  afternoon 
with  him.  t   .   ,     • 

^The  summer  of  this  year,  1749,  was  marked  by  its  ex- 

Icessive  heat.     It  is  two  leagues  from  Paris  to  Yineermes. 

J  In  no  condition  to  hire  hackney-coaches,  I  u.sed  when  alone 
to  go  on  foot  at  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  ;  and  to  get 
the  sooner,  I  walked  quite  fast.  The  trees  by  the  road- 
side, invariably  lopped  according  to  the  custom  of  the 
country,  afforded  scarcely  any  shade  ;  and  often  would  I 
throw  myself  on  the  ground,  worn  out  with  fatigue,  unable 
to  go  a  step  farther.  To  moderate  my  pace,  I  devised  the 
plan  of  taking  something  to  read  along  with  me.  One  day 
1  took  the  Mercure  de  France;  well,  while  walking  and 
reading  along,  I  fell  on  this  question,  proposed  by  the  Aca- 
demy of  Dijon  for  the  premium  the  ensuing  year,  Whether 
the  advance  of  the  Arts  and  Sciences  had  contributed  to  corrupt 
or  purify  morals  7 

The  moment  I  read  this,  I  beheld  another  universe  and 
became  a  new  man.  Though  I  have  a  lively  recollection 
of  the  impression  it  made  on  me,  the  details  have  escaped 
my  mind  since  I  developed  them  in  one  of  my  four  letters 
to  M.  de  Malesherbes.  This,  by  the  way,  is  a  peculiarity 
of  my  memory  that  deserves  mention  :  it  serves  me  just 
in  proportion  as  I  rely  upon  it — the  moment  I  have  com- 
mitted the  trust  to  paper,  it  forsakes  me  ;  just  as  soon  as 
I  have  once  written  a  thing,  I  forget  it  altogether.  This 
singularity  holds  even  in  music.  Before  learning  the  art, 
I  knew  a  multitude  of  songs  by  heart ;  but  ever  since  I 
have  been  able  to  sing  by  note,  I  have  been  unable  to  re- 
collect any  ;  and  I  doubt  whether  of  those  I  have  been  the 
fondest  of,  I  could  at  present  go  through  with  a  single  one. 
The  only  thing  I  remember  distinctly  on  this  occasion 
is  that,  on  arriving  at  Yincennes,  I  was  in  a  state  of  agita- 
tion that  approached  delirium.  Diderot  perceived  it  :  I 
told  him  the  cause  Jjiereof,  and  read  him  the  Fabricius 
prosopopoeia  which  I  had  written  with  a  pencil  under  an 
oak.  He  advised  me  to  give  flight  to  my  ideas  and  be- 
come a  competitor  for  the  prize.  I  did  so,  and  from  that 
moment  I  was  lost.  The  rest  of  my  life,  and  all  my  subse- 
quent misfortunes  are  the  inevitable  effect  of  this  moment 
of  error. 


8G  Rousseau's  confessions. 

My  sentiments  rose  with  inconceivable  rapidity  to  the 
level  of  my  ideas.  All  my  petty  passions  were  stifled  by 
the  enthusiasm  of  truth,  liberty  and  virtue  :  but  the  aston- 
ishing part  of  it  was,  that  this  effervescence  continued  in 
my  soul  for  upwards  of  five  years,  and  that  to  as  lofty  a 
pitch,  perhaps,  as  it  ever  did  in  the  heart  of  man. 

I  composed  my  Dissertation  after  a  very  singular 
fashion,  and  by  the  way,  I  pursued  the  plan  in  all  my  other 
works.  I  devoted  the  sleepless  hours  of  night  to  it,  medita- 
ting in  bed  with  my  eyes  closed,  turning  and  returning  my 
periods  in  my  head  with  incredible  trouble  ;  then,  when  I 
had  got  them  to  my  satisfaction,  I  charactered  them  in  my 
memory,  until  an  opportunity  for  committing  them  to  paper 
presented  itself.  The  time  spent  in  rising  and  dressing  my- 
self, however,  sent  everything  out  of  my  head,  so  that  when 
I  came  to  sit  down  to  my  paper,  scarce  anything  of  what  I 
had  composed  remained.  To  remedy  this  I  hit  on  making 
Madam  Le  Vasseur  my  secretary.  I  had  furnished  her 
with  lodgings  nearer  me,  along  with  her  husband  and 
daughter  ;  and,  to  save  me  the  expense  of  a  servant,  she 
cam'e  every  morning  to  light  my  fire  and  do  up  any  little 
chores.  As  soon  as  she  came,  I  dictated  to  her  from  my 
bed  what  I  had  composed  during  the  night,  and  this  practice, 
which  I  kept  up  for  a  long  time,  preserved  me  many  things 
I  should  otherwise  have  forgotten. 

When  the  Dissertation  was  done,  I  showed  it  to  Diderot, 
who  hked  it  well,  and  pointed  out  certain  corrections.  And 
yet  this  composition,  full  of  force  and  fire  though  it  be,  is 
totally  deficient  in  logic  and  order :  of  all  the  productions 
that  have  come  from  my  pen,  it  is  the  feeblest  as  to  reason- 
ing and  the  poorest  in  number  and  harmony.  But  with 
what  talent  soever  one  may  be  born,  the  art  of  writing  is 
not  to  be  acquired  in  a  day. 

I  sent  off  the  piece  without  speaking  of  it  to  any  one, 
anless  it  may  be,  I  think,  that  I  mentioned  it  to  Grimm, 
with  whom,  since  his  connection  with  Count  Triese,  I  began 
to  be  on  the  most  intimate  footing.  He  had  a  harpsichord 
which  served  as  a  connecting  link  between  us,  and  around 
which  I  used  to  pass  all  my  leisure  moments  along  with 
him,  singing  Italian  airs  and  barcarolles  right  on  from 
morning  to  night,  or  rather  from  night  to  morning  ;  so  that 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VIII.       1149.  87 

when  I  was  not  to  be  found  at  Madam  Dupin's,  everybody 
concluded  that  I  was  at  M.  Grimm's,  or  with  him  at  least, 
either  walking,  or  at  the  theatre.  I  left  off  going  to  the 
Comedie  Italienne,  of  which  I  had  the  freedom,  to  accom- 
pany him  to  the  Comedie  Francaise,  of  which  he  was  passion- 
ately fond,  and  where,  of  course,  I  had  to  pay  for  admis- 
sion. In  short,  so  powerful  an  attraction  bound  me  to  this 
young  man,  and  I  became  so  inseparable  from  him,  that  the 
poor  'aunt'  herself  was  rather  neglected  ;  that  is,  I  saw 
her  less  frequently,  for  never  for  a  moment  in  my  life  has 
my  attachment  for  her  become  at  all  weakened. 

This  impossibility  of  spending  my  little  spare  time 
according  to  my  inclinations  renewed  more  strongly  than 
ever  the  desire  I  had  long  entertained  of  having  but  one 
home  in  common  for  Therese  and  myself  :  but  the  encum- 
brance of  her  numerous  relatives,  and  especially  the  want 
of  money  wherewith  to  purchase  furniture,  had  hitherto 
withheld  me  from  doing  so.  An  opportunity  to  make  the 
effort,  however,  presented  itself,  and  I  profited  thereby. 
M.  de  Francueil  and  Madam  Dupin,  realizing  that  eight  or 
nine  hundred  francs  a  year  must  be  inadequate  to  my 
wants,  of  their  own  accord  advanced  my  salary  to  fifty 
louis  ;  and  Madam  Dupin,  learning  that  I  wished  to 
furnish  my  lodgings,  assisted  me  with  some  articles  for  that 
purpose.  Of  this  furniture  and  what  Therese  had  we  made 
a  stock  in  common  ;  and  having  rented  a  small  apartment 
in  the  hotel  de  Languedoc,  rue  de  Greuelle-Saint-Honore, 
kept  by  very  respectable  people,  we  fixed  up  matters  as  best 
we  could,  and  here  we  lived  peacefully  and  agreeably  for 
sevejL^ears,  until  my  removal  to  the  Hermitage. 
j^'  Therese's  father  was  a  worthy  old  fellov/,  extremely 
I  mild  and  mortally  afraid  of  his  wife,  to  whom  he  had  for 
'  this  reason  given  the  surname  of  '  Lieutenant  Criminal/  a 
nickname  which  Grimm  in  his  jocose  way  afterwards  trans- 
ferred to  the  daughter.  Madam  Le  Vasseur  had  no  lack 
of  wit,  that  is,  address:  she  even  affected  the  politeness 
and  fine  airs  of  the  fashionable  world,  and  she  practiced  a 
mysterious  system  of  trickery  that  was  insufferable  to  me, 
giving  bad  advice  to  her  daughter,  endeavoring  to  make 
her  dissemble  with  me,  and  cajoling  my  friends  separately 
at  each  others  expense  and  my  own  ;  in  other  respects,  a 


88  ROUSSKAU'S  CONFESSIONS. 

good   enough  mother  in  her  way  seeing  that   she  foniid 
her  account   in   being   so,    and   given   to  concealing   her 
daughter's    faults    because    she    profited  thereby.      This 
woman,    whom    I     loaded    with     attentions    and     little 
presents,  and  by  whom  I  had  it  extremely  at  heart  to  ren- 
der myself  beloved,  became,  from  the  impossibility  I  found 
in  doing  so,  the  sole  cause  of  any  trouble  I  suffered  in  my 
little   establishment.     With   this   exception,    I    can   truly 
declare  that,  during  these  six  or  seven  years,  I  enjoyed  the 
most  perfect  domestic  happiness  compatible  with  human 
frailty.     The  heart   of  my  Therese   was   the  heart  of  an 
angel  ;  our  attachment  increased  with  our  intimacy,  and  we 
realized  more  and  more  every  day  how  entirely  we  were 
made  for  each  other.     Did  our  pleasures  admit  of  descrip- 
tion, their  simplicity  would  certainly  excite  a  smile-,  our 
promenades  beyond  the  city,  where  I  would  indulge  in  the 
extravagance  of  spending  eight  or  ten  sous  at  some  ale- 
house or  other  ;  our  little  suppers  at  my  window  sill  seated 
opposite  each  other  on  two  little  chairs,  placed  on  a  trunk 
which   filled   the   embrasure.     Thus    seated,    the   window 
served  as  our  table,  we  breathed  the  fresh  air,  surveyed  the 
neighborhood  or  watched  the  passers  by,  and  though  up  in 
the  fourth  story  we  could  command  the  whole  sweep  of  the 
street  below,   and  eat  at  the  same  time.     Who  shall  de- 
scribe, nay,  who  can  feel  the  charm  of  those  repasts,  consist- 
ing, for  solids,  of  a  large  quartern  loaf,  a  few  cherries  and  a 
piece  of  cheese;   and  of  half  a  pint  of  wine  which  we  drank 
between  us  !     Friendship,    confidence,  intimacy,  sweetness 
of  disposition— how  delicious  your  seasoning  1      A.t  times 
we  would  unconciously  linger  there  till  midnight,  without  a 
thought   of  the   hour,    unless   informed   of  it   by  the   old 
mother.     But  a  truce  to  details  :  they  must  necessarily  seem  ; 
either   insipid   or    laughable.     I     have   always   said    andJ^ 
always  felt  that  true  happiness  is  not  to  be  descril^ed. 

Much  about  the  same  time,  I  indulged  in  a  pleasure  of 
a  rather  grosser  kind,  the  last,  indeed,  of  that  sort  I  have  Gi 
to  reproach  myself  with.  I  have  observed  that  the  minister  I 
Kupffell  was  an  amiable  fellow  :  my  connection  with  him 
was  scarcely  less  intimate  than  with  Grimm,  and  we  became 
quite  as  famihar.  At  times  they  both  took  dinner  along 
with  me.     These  repasts,  simple  to  a  degree,  were  enlivened 


PERIOD  IL       BOOK  VIII      1749.  89 

by  Kupffell's  fine  rolicsorae  wantonness  and  by  the  divert- 
ing germanisras  of  Grimra,  who  had  not  as  yet  become  a 
purist.  Indulgence  was  not  the  order  of  the  day  at  our  lit- 
tle orgies,  but  joy  supplied  its  place,  and  we  enjoyed  each 
other's  company  so  much  that  we  could  scarce  separate. 
Kupffell  had  increased  his  establishmeut  by  a  little  girl, 
who,  however,  as  he  could  not  support  her  himself,  was  at 
the  service  of  anybody  else.  One  evening,  on  entering  the 
cafe,  we  met  him  coming  out  to  go  and  take  supper  with 
her.  We  rallied  him,' whereon  he  gallantly  revenged  him- 
self by  inviting  us  to  supper  along  with  him,  and  then  ral- 
lied us  in  turn.  The  poor  young  creature  appeared  to  me 
of  quite  a  pleasant  disposition,  very  mild  and  little  fitted 
for  her  way  of  life,  though  an  old  hag,  she  had  with  her, 
seemed  doing  her  utmost  to  train  her  to  it.  Wine  and  talk 
so  enlivened  us  that  we  forgot  ourselves.  The  kind  Kup- 
ffell was  unwilling  to  do  the  honors  by  halves,  so  the  three 
of  us  passed  successively  into  the  adjoining  chamber  with 
the  young  creature  who  scarce  knew  whether  to  laugh  or 
cry.  Grimm  always  maintained  that  he  did  not  touch  her  : 
it  must,  then,  have  been  simply  to  amuse  himself  by  keeping 
us  waiting  that  he  remained  so  long  with  her  ;  and  if  he 
abstained,  there  is  little  likelihood  of  its  being  from  scruple, 
as,  previous  to  his  going  to  live  with  Count  Friese,  he  had 
lodged  with  girls  of  the  town  in  that  same  quartier  Saint- 
Roch. 

I  left  the  rue  des  Moineaux,  where  the  young  thing 
lodged,  as  heartily  ashamed  of  myself  as  was  Saint  Preux 
on  leaving  the  house  where  he  had  got  drunk,  and  when  I 
wrote  his  story,  I  well  remembered  my  own.  Therese  per- 
ceived by  some  indication  or  other,  and  especially  by  my 
confused  air,  that  I  had  somewhat  to  reproach  myself  with, 
so  I  relieved  my  mind  by  making  a  clean  breast  of  it.  And 
well  it  was  that  I  did  so,  for  the  very  next  day,  Grimm 
came  in  triumph,  and  gave  her  an  exaggerated  version  of 
my  crime,  and  since  then  he  has  never  failed  malignantly  to 
call  it  to  her  mind  :  in  doing  which  he  acted  all  the  more 
culpably  in  that,  having  freely  and  of  my  own  accord  given 
him  my  confidence,  I  had  a  right  to  expect  from  him  tliat 
he  would  not  give  me  occasion  to  repent  having  done  so. 
Never  bad  I  a  more  convincing  proof  of  Therese's  goodness 


90  Rousseau's  confessions. 

of  heart  than  on  this  occasion  ;  for  she  was  more  shocked 
at  Grimm's  conduct  than  at  my  infidelity,  and  all  I  received 
from  her  were  certain  tender  and  touching  reproaches, 
wherein  I  perceived  not  the  smallest  trace  of  spite. 

The  simplicity  of  this  excellent  girl  equaled  her  good- 
ness of  heart  :  that  is  saying  everything.  There  is  an  ex- 
ample, however,  which  presents  itself  to  my  mind  that  is 
worth  relating.  I  had  told  her  that  Kupflfell  was  a  minis- 
ter and  chaplain  to  the  prince  of  Saxe-Gotha.  A  minister 
was  to  her  so  singular  a  personage,  that,  comically  confound- 
ing the  most  divergent  of  ideas,  she  got  it  into  her  head 
to  take  Kupffell  for  the  Pope.  I  thought  her  mad  the  first 
time  she  told  me,  on  my  entrance,  that  the  Pope  had  called 
to  see  me.  I  made  her  explain  herself,  and  then  lost  not  a 
moment  in  going  and  telling  the  story  to  Grimm  and  Kup- 
ffell, who  never  lost  the  name  of  '  Pope '  amongst  ourselves. 
To  the  girl  of  rue  des  Moineaux  we  gave  the  name  of  the 
Popesse  Joan.  And  then  what  laughs  we  had  over  it, — 
it  almost  stifled  us  I  The  persons  who,  in  a  letter  it  has 
pleased  them  to  attribute  to  me,  have  made  me  say  that  I 
never  laughed  but  twice  in  my  life,  did  not  know  me  at  the 
period  referred  to,  nor  yet  in  my  youth  ;  otherwise  such  an 
idea  would  assuredly  never  have  entered  their  heads. 

(1750-1752).  The  year  following,  1750,  while  think- 
ing no  more  of  my  Dissertation,  I  learned  that  it  had  car- 
ried off  the  prize  at  Dijon.  This  news  awakened  all  the 
ideas  that  had  dictated  it  to  me,  animated  them  with  new 
fire,  and  completed  the  fermentation  in  my  heart  of  that 
first  leaven  of  heroism  and  virtue  which  my  father,  my 
country  and  Plutarch  had  infused  into  my  mind  during 
childhood.  Nothing  now  seemed  great  or  beautiful  in  my 
eyes  but  to  be  free  and  virtuous,  superior  to  fortune  and 
opinion,  and  to  be  self-sufficient.  Although  false  shame 
and  the  fear  of  ridicule  prevented  me  from  at  first  conduct- 
ing myself  acconling  to  these  principles,  and  kept  me  from 
suddenly  and  unceremoniously  setting  myself  in  opposition 
to  the  philosophy  of  my  age,  I  from  that  time  forth  formed 
the  determined  resolution  of  doing  so,  and  I  delayed  execut- 
ing it  only  till  coutradictioji  should  irritate  and  render  it 
triumphant  y         -     -- 

Whilst!  was  philosophising  on  the  duties  of  man,  an 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  VIII.      1750 — 1*152.  91 

event  occurred  that  made  me  think  more  immediately  of  my 
own  duties.  Therese  became  a  third  time  pregnant.  Too 
sincere  with  myself,  too  proud  inwardly  to  give  the  lie  to  my 
principles  by  my  practice,  I  set  to  examining  the  destination 
of  my  children  and  my  relations  to  their  mother,  according 
to  the  laws  of  nature,  justice  and  reason,  and  according  to 
the  dictates  of  oar  pure  and  holy  religion,  a  religion  as  eter- 
nal as  its  author,  but  which  men  have  polluted  in  pretend- 
ing to  purify  it,  and  which  they  have,  by  their  formularies, 
reduced  to  a  religion  of  words,  since  the  difficulty  of  pre- 
scribing impossibilities  is  but  trifling  to  those  by  whom  they 
are  not  practised. 

If  I  deceived  myself  in  the  conclusion  I  came  to,  nothing 
is  more  astonishing  than  the  security  of  soul  with  which  I 
relied  thereon.  Had  I  been  one  of  those  naturally  bad 
men,  deaf  to  the  soft  voice  of  nature,  within  whom  no  true 
sentiment  of  justice  or  humanity  ever  takes  root,  this  ob- 
duracy would  have  been  comprehensible  enough  ;  but  are 
my  warmheartedness,  my  keen  sensibility,  that  readiness  to 
form  attachments,  that  force  with  which  they  overcome  me, 
the  heart-breaking  I  feel  when  they  have  to  be  given  up,  my 
inborn  sympathy  with  my  fellows,  my  ardent  love  of  the 
Great,  the  True,  the  Beautiful,  the  Just,  my  horror  of  evil 
in  all  its  shapes,  the  impossibility  I  feel  of  hating,  injuring, 
or  even  wishing  to  injure  any  one,  the  keen  sympathy,  the 
soft,  deep  emotion  I  experience  at  the  sight  of  whatever  is 
virtuous,  generous,  or  amiable — are  all  these  compatible  in 
the  same"  mind,  with  the  depravity  that  nnscrupulously 
tramples  on  the  teuderest  of  duties  ?  No  ;  I  feel  it,  and  I 
unhesitatingly  affirm  that  such  a  thing  is  impossible.  Never 
for  a  moment  in  his  life  could  Jean  Jacques  be  an  unfeeling, 
heartless  man,  or  an  unnatural  father.  I  may  have  deceiv- 
ed myself,  but  never  have  I  allowed  my  heart  to  become 
hardened.  Did  I  give  my  reasons,  I  should  say  too  much. 
Since  they  seduced  me,  they  might  seduce  others  also  ;  and 
I  do  not  wish  to  expose  the  young  people  that  may  read 
me  to  fall  into  the  same  mistake..^  shall  content  myself 
with  saying  that  my  error  was  of  such  a  nature  that  in 
abandoning  my  children  to  a  public  education,  for  want  of 
means  to  bring  them  up  myself,  in  destining  theiii  to  become 
workmen    and    peasants,    rather   than    adventurers    and 


92  Rousseau's  confessions. 

fortune-hunters,  I  conceived  I  was  acting  like  a  good  father 
and  a  good  citizen,  and  regarded  myself  as  a  member  of  the 
republic  of  Plato.  More  than  once,  since  then,  have  the 
regrets  of  my  heart  brought  it  home  to  me  that  I  was 
wrong  ;  but  far  from  my  reason's  intimating  any  such  thing, 
I  have  often  thanked  heaven  for  having  thereby  preserved 
them  from  the  fate  of  their  father  and  from  the  lot  that 
would  inevitably  have  befallen  them  on  my  being  forced  to 
leave  them.  Had  I  left  them  to  Madam  d'Epinay  or  Ma- 
dam de  Luxembourg,  who,  either  out  of  friendship,  genero- 
sity, or  some  other  motive,  offered  to  take  care  of  them  in 
due  time,  would  they  have  been  any  happier  ?  would  they, 
any  way,  have  been  brought  up  to  be  honest  men  ?  I  know  i 
not  ;  but  of  this  I  am  very  sure,  that  they  would  have  been  i 
taught  to  hate,  nay,  it  may  be,  to  betray  their  parents  : 
better  a  thousand  times  is  it  they  never  knew  them  1 

My  third  child  was,  accordingly,  like  the  two  first,  car-  ,  / 
ried  to  the  Foundling-Hospital  ;  so,  too,  with  the  two  that  \ 
followed,  for  I  had  five  in  all.  This  arrangement  seemed  to  oi 
me  so  good,  so  sensible,  so  legitimate,  that,  if  I  did  not  ^ 
openly  boast  of  it,  it  was  simply  out  of  regard  to  the  moth- 
er, I  mentioned  it,  however,  to  all  who  were  aware  of  our 
connection  :  I  told  Diderot,  I  told  Grimm  ;  I  afterwards 
informed  Madam  d'Epinay,  and  afterwards  again  Madam 
de  Luxembourg  ;  and  this  of  my  own  accord,  frankly,  with- 
out being  under  the  least  necessity  of  doing  so,  and  having 
it  in  my  power  readily  to  have  concealed  it  from  everybody; 
for  la  Grouin  was  a  decent,  discreet  body,  on  whom  I  could 
perfectly  rely.  The  only  one  of  my  friends  to  whom  I  had 
any  interest  to  open  myself  was  the  physician  Thierry  who 
had  the  care  of  my  poor  '  aunt'  in  one  of  her  lyings-in,  in 
which  she  was  very  ill.  In  a  word,  I  acted  without  the 
least  mystery,  not  only  because  I  never  could  conceal  any- 
thing from  my  friends,  l)ut,  in  fact,  because  I  saw  no  harm 
in  it.  Everything  considered,  I  made  the  best  choice  for 
my  children,  or  what  I  thought  such.  I  could  have  wished, 
and  I  still  wish,  I  had  been  brought  up  as  they  were. 

Whilst  I  was  unbosoming  myself.  Madam  Le  Vasseur 
was  douig  the  same,  though  with  less  disinterested  views. 
I  had  introduced  her  daughter  and  her  to  Madam  Dupin, 
who,  from  friendship  for  me,  showed  them  a  thousand  marks 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VIII.     1750 — 1752.  93 

of  kindness.  The  mother  let  her  into  the  secret  of  the 
daughter.  Madam  Dupin,  who  is  kiud  and  generous,  and 
to  whom  she  never  told  how  attentive  I  was,  notwithstand- 
ing the  smalluess  of  my  means,  in  providing  everything 
necessary,  out  of  her  own  purse  furnished  everything  re- 
quired with  a  liberality  which,  by  order  of  her  mother,  the 
daughter  always  concealed  from  me  during  my  residence  in 
Paris,  and  of  which  she  never  told  me  until  we  were  at  the 
Hermitage,  when  she  informed  me  thereof,  after  having  unbo- 
somed herself  of  various  other  matters.  I  did  not  know 
Madam  Dupin  was  so  well  informed,  for  she  never  made  as 
though  she  knew  anything  of  the  matter  ;  nor  am  I  aware 
whether  Madam  de  Chenonceaux,  her  daughter-in-law,  was 
also  informed  ;  but  her  daughter-in-law,  Madam  de  Frau- 
cucil  certainly  was,  nor  could  she  refrain  from  prating.  She 
spoke  of  it  to  me  the  year  following,  after  I  had  left  her 
house.  This  stirred  me  up  to  write  her  a  letter  which  will 
be  found  in  my  collection,  wherein  I  lay  bare  such  of  my 
reasons  as  I  could  make  public  without  compromising 
Madam  Le  Vasseur  and  her  connections  ;  for  the  weightiest 
ones  came  from  that  quarter,  and  these  I  kept  profoundly 
secret. 

I  am  sure  of  the  discretion  of  Madam  Dupin  and  of  the 
friendship  of  Madam  de  Chenonceaux  :  I  had  the  same  de- 
pendence on  Madam  de  Francueil,  who,  besides,  was  dead 
long  before  my  secret  got  noised  abroad  in  the  world.  It 
could  never  have  got  out  but  by  the  very  persons  to  whom 
I  confided  it;  nor  by  the  way  did  it,  till  after  my  rupture  with 
them.  By  this  single  fact  are  they  judged  :  without  wishing  to 
exculpate  myself  from  the  blame  I  deserve,!  much  prefer  bear- 
ing it  to  bearing  that  their  malignity  deserves.  My  sin  is  great, 
but  it  was  an  error  ;  I  have  neglected  my  duties,  but  the 
desire  of  harming  any  one  never  entered  my  heart,  and  it  is 
impossible  for  a  father's  feehngs  to  speak  very  loudly  for 
children  he  never  saw  :  but  betraying  the  confidence  of 
friendship,  violating  the  most  sacred  of  all  engagements, 
publishing  secrets  sacredly  entrusted,  wantonly  dishonoring 
the  friend  one  has  deceived,  and  who  while  giving  you  up 
still  respects  you — such  acts  as  these  are  not  mere  faults, 
they  are  the  blackest  and  basest  of  villainies. 

I  have  promised  a  confession,  not  a  justification  of  my- 


94  Rousseau's  confessions. 

self ;  so  I  stop  here.     It  is  for  me  to  be  truthful  ;  for  the 
reader  to  be  just.     More  than  this  I  shall  never  ask  of  him. 
The  marriage  of  M.  de  Chenonceaux  rendered  his  mother's 
house  still  more  agreeable  to  me,  from  the  wit  and  worth  of 
the  bride,  a  very  amiable  young  person,  who  seemed  to  dis- 
tin.guish  me  from  among  the  scribes  of  M.  Dupin.     She  was 
the' only  daughter  of  the  Viscountess  de  Rochechouert,  a 
great  friend  of  Count  Triese  and  consequently  of  Grimm, 
who  was  very  attentive  to  her.     It  was  I,  however,  that 
introduced  him  to  her  daughter  :  but  their  dispositions  do 
not  accord,  so  the  connection  was  not  followed  up,   and 
Grimm,  who  even  then  had  an  eye  to  the  substantial,  pre- 
ferred the  mother,  a  woman  of  the  world,  to  the  daughter, 
who  wished  steady  and  agreeable  friends,  without  taking 
the  least  part  in  intrigues  or  seeking  credit  among  the  great. 
Madam  Dupin,  not  finding  in  Madam  de  Chenonceaux  all 
the  docility  she  expected,  rendered  her  house  a  very  dis- 
agreeable home  ;  and  Madam  de  Chenonceaux,  proud  of 
her  merit,  and  perhaps  of  her  birth,  chose  rather  to  give 
up  the  pleasures  of  society  and  remain  almost  alone  in  her 
apartment,  rather  than  submit  to  a  yoke  she  did  not  feel 
called  on  to  bear.     This  species  of  exile  increased  my  at- 
tachment for  her,  by  that  natural  inclination  that  draws 
me  towards  the  unhappy.     I  found  that  she  was  of  a  meta- 
physical and  reflective  turn,  though  inclined  to  be  somewhat 
sophistical.     Her  conversation,  which  did  not  at  all  resem- 
ble that  of  a  young  woman   coming  from  a  convent,  was 
extremely  attractive  to  me.     And  yet  she  was  not  twenty 
years  old  ;  her  complexion  was  dazzliugly  fair  ;  her  figure 
would  have  been  majestic  had  she  held  herself  more  up- 
right ;  her  hair,  of  an  ashy  blond  and  rare  beauty,  reminded 
me  of' my  poor  Maman's  in  her  best  days,  and  caused  my 
heart  many  a  flutter.     But  the  severe  principles  I  had  just 
laid  down  for  myself,  and  which  I  was  resolved  to  carry  out 
at  all  costs,  made  me  proof  against  herself  and  her  charms. 
During   a   whole    summer,   I   passed  three  or  four  hours 
a  day  along  with  her  alone,  gravely  teaching  her  arithmetic 
and  boring  her  to  death  with  my  figures,  without  uttering  a 
single  word  in  the  way  of  gallantry,  or  so  much  as  casting 
a  tender  look  at  her.     Five  or  six  years  later  I  should  not 
have  been  so  wise,  or  so  foolish(?)  ;  but  it  was  decreed 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  VIII.      1*150 — 1152.  95 

that  I  was  to  love  but  once  in  my  life,  and  that  another 
than  she  was  to  have  ray  heart's  first  and  last  sigh. 

Since  I  had  gone  to  live  with  Madam  Dupiu,  I  had  al- 
ways been  satisfied  with  my  lot,  and  had  not  manifested  any 
desu-e  to  have  it  improved.  The  advance  which,  conjomtly 
with  M.  de  Francueil,  she  had  made  in  my  salary,  was  en- 
tirely of  their  own  accord.  This  year,  M.  de  Francueil, 
whose  friendship  for  me  increased  day  by  day,  had  it  in  his 
thoughts  to  place  me  in  a  more  easy  position,  and  in  a  less 
precarious  situation.  He  was  receiver  general  of  the  finan- 
ces. M.  Dudoyer,  his  cashier,  had  grown  old  and  rich,  and 
wished  to  retire.  M.  de  Francueil  offered  me  the  situation  ; 
and  to  fit  me  to  fulfill  its  functions,  I  went  for  several  weeks 
to  M.  Dudoyer  to  receive  the  necessary  instruction.  But, 
whether  I  had  but  Uttle  talent  for  the  emplojouent,  or  Du- 
doyer, who  seemed  to  me  to  have  another  successor  in  his  eye, 
did  not  act  in  good  faith  in  his  mstructions,  I  acquired  the 
knowledge  I  wanted  slowly  and  imperfectly  ;  and  I  could 
never  get  into  my  head  the  intricate  order  of  the  accounts, 
designedly,  it  may  be,  rendered  more  complicated.  How- 
ever, though  I  had  not  grasped  the  whole  scope  of  the  busi- 
ness, I  had  yet  caught  enough  of  the  practical  method  to 
carry  it  on  successfully.  I  even  commenced  my  duties.  I 
kept  the  cash-book  and  the  cash  ;  paid  and  received  monies, 
gave  receipts,  etc. ;  and  though  I  had  as  httle  taste  as  talent 
for  the  business,  yet  maturity  having  brought  sense,  I  waa 
determined  to  conquer  my  repugnance  and  devote  myself  en- 
tirely to  my  employment.  Unfortimately,  I  had  no  sooner 
got  well  started  than  M.  de  Francueil  went  on  a  httle  jour- 
ney, during  which  I  was  entrusted  with  the  cash,  which,  by 
the  way,  did  not  just  then  amount  to  over  twenty-five  or 
thh-ty  thousand  francs.  The  anxiety  of  mind  this  trust  occa- 
sioned keenly  brought  home  to  me  how  very  unfitted  I  was  for 
a  cash-keeper,  and  I  doubt  not  that  the  bad  blood  I  generated 
dui'ing  his  absence  contributed  to  the  illness  into  which  I  fell 
on  his  return. 

I  have  observed,  in  my  First  Part,  that  I  was  born  in  a 
dying  state.  A  malformation  of  the  bladder  caused  me, 
dm'ing  my  early  years,  to  sufler  an  almost  continual  retention 
of  urme  ;  and  my  aunt  Susan,  to  whose  care  I  was  entrustr 
ed,  had  inconceivable  diflficulty  in  preserving  my  Ufe.     She 


9(5  ROUSSEAC'S  CONFESSIONS. 

succeeded,  however  ;  my  robust  constitution  got  the  ascend- 
ant, and  my  health  became  so  established  during  my  youth 
that,  excepting  the  lauguor-illness,  of  which  I  have  given  an 
account,  and  the  frequent  need  of  m-mating  which  the  least  heat 
very  troublesomely  brought  on,  I  arrived  at  the  age  of  thirty 
almost  totally  exempt  from  my  origmal  infirmity.  The  first 
time  I  felt  it  was  on  my  arrival  at  Venice.  The  fatigue  of 
the  journey  and  the  terrible  heat  I  had  suffered  brought  on 
an  attack  of  ardeur  d'urine  and  pains  in  the  loins  that  lasted 
till  the  beginning  of  winter.  After  having  seen  the  padoana, 
I  thought  I  was  a  dead  man,  and  yet  I  suffered  not  the  least 
inconvenience.  After  exhausting  my  unagmation  more  than 
my  body  on  my  Zuhetta,  I  enjoyed  better  health  than  ever. 
It  was  not  till  after  Diderot's  unprisoument,  that  the  over- 
heating contracted  dming  my  walks  to  Yincennes,  amid  the 
terrible  heats  of  that  summer,  brought  on  a  violent  nephritic 
cohc,  since  which  I  have  never  recovered  my  first  good  health 
At  the  tune  of  which  I  am  speaking,  having  most  likely 
rather  fatigued  myself  at  my  uncongenial  labors  over  that 
cursed  cash,  I  fell  lower  than  ever,  and  I  remained  in  my  bed 
five  or  six  weeks  in  the  most  wretched  condition  imaginable. 
Madam  Dupin  sent  me  the  celebrated  Morand,  who,  spite  of 
his  address  and  the  delicacy  of  his  touch,  caused  me  insuffer- 
able torments,  and  never  could  probe  me.  He  advised  me  to 
have  recourse  to  Dorau,  whose  more  flexible  bougies,  indeed, 
at  length  effected  an  entrance  ;  but  when  reportmg  my  condi- 
tion to  Madam  Dupin,  Morand  declared  to  her  that  six 
months  thence  I  would  not  be  alive.  This  came  to  my  ear, 
and  induced  serious  reflection  on  my  situation,  and  on  the 
folly  of  sacrificing  the  repose  and  enjoyment  of  the  few  days 
I  had  to  Uve  to  the  slavery  of  an  employment  for  which  I 
felt  nothmg  but  disgust.  Besides,  how  reconcile  the  severe 
principles  I  had  just  adopted  with  a  situation  so  httle  in  rapport 
therewith  ?  Would  not  I  look  well,  the  cashier  of  a  Receiver 
general  of  finances,  preaching  disinterestedness  and  poverty  ! 
These  ideas  so  fermented  in  my  fever-wrought  brain,  so 
stamped  themselves  thereon,  that  nothing  could  afterwards 
rase  them  ;  and  during  my  convalescence  I  coolly  confirmed 
myself  in  the  resolutions  I  had  determined  on  during  my  de- 
lirium. I  renounced  for  ever  all  projects  of  fortune  or  ad- 
vancement. "  Fully  determined  to  pass  the  Uttle  while  that 


PERIOD  II.    BOOK  VIII.      1150 — 1152.  91 

remained  for  me  to  live  in  independence  and  poverty,  1 
brought  to  bear  all  the  powers  of  my  soul  to  breaking  the 
fetters  of  opinion,  and  courageously  doing  whatever  appear- 
ed to  me  well,  without  giving  myself  the  least  concern  about 
the  judgment  of  men.  The  obstacles  I  had  to  combat,  and 
the  efforts  I  made  to  triumph  over  them,  are  inconceivable. 
I  succeeded  as  far  as  was  possible  and  far  beyond  what  I  had 
myself  expected.  Had  I  as  completely  shaken  off  the  yoke 
of  friendship  as  I  did  that  of  opinion,  I  should  have  accom- 
plished my  design,  a  design  the  greatest,  or  at  least  the  most 
useful  to  virtue  ever  mortal  conceived ;  but  whilst  I  trampled 
under  foot  the  senseless  judgments  of  the  vulgar  tribe  of  self- 
called  great  and  wise,  I  suffered  myself  to  be  influenced  and 
overcome  by  so-called  friends,  who,  jealous  of  seeing  me 
walking  alone  in  a  new  path,  whilst  seeming  to  take  all  pos- 
sible measures  for  my  happiness,  in  reality  used  all  their  en- 
deavors to  render  me  ridiculous,  beginning  by  villifying,  that 
they  might  in  the  end  defame  me.  It  was  not  so  much  my 
literary  celebrity  as  my  personal  reform,  of  which  I  note  here 
the  commencement,  that  drew  upon  me  their  jealousy.  They 
would  perhaps  have  pardoned  my  having  distinguished  my- 
self as  a  writer  ;  but  they  could  not  forgive  my  setting  them 
an  example  that  might  seem  to  reflect  on  them.  I  was  bom 
for  friendship  ;  my  mild  and  easy  disposition  freely  feels  it. 
So  long  as  I  lived  unknown  to  the  pubhc,  I  was  beloved  by 
aU  that  knew  me,  and  I  had  not  a  single  enemy  ;  but  no 
sooner  had  I  acquired  a  name  than  all  my  friends  took  flight. 
This  was  a  very  great  misfortune  ;  but  a  greater  stiU  was  to 
be  surrounded  by  persons  who  assumed  the  name  of  friends, 
and  who  used  the  rights  attached  to  that  sacred  name  only 
to  lead  me  on  to  destruction.  The  sequel  of  these  Memoirs 
will  reveal  this  odious  conspiracy  ;  I  here  simply  point  out 
its  origin — how  the  first  coil  was  formed  will  sliortly  appear. 
In  the  independence  in  which  I  wished  to  live,  I  had 
nevertheless  to  subsist.  To  effect  this  I  hit  on  a  very 
simple  means,  namely,  copying  music  at  so  much  a  page. 
If  any  more  solid  occupation  would  have  brought  about  the 
same  end,  I  should  have  taken  it  up.  This  way  of  life, 
however,  was  to  my  taste,  and  was  the  ouly  one  in  which 
I  could,  without  personal  subjection,  earn  ray  daily  bread. 
I  adopted  it  accordingly.  Thinking  I  had  no  longer  any 
II.  5 


98  Rousseau's  confessions. 

need  of  foresight,  and  stifling  my  vanity,  from  being  a  fin- 
ancier's cashier,  I  made  myself  a  music-copyist.  I  con- 
ceived I  had  gained  a  good  deal  by  the  change,  and  so 
little  did  I  repent  the  step,  that  when  I  did  leave  it,  it  was 
only  from  necessity,  and  then,  to  retura  to  it  as  soon  as 
possible. 

The  success  of  my  first  Dissertation,  facilitated  the  ex- 
ecution of  this  resolution.  On  its  gaining  the  prize,  Diderot 
undertook  to  get  it  printed.  Whilst  I  was  confined  to 
bed,  he  wrote  me  a  note,  informing  me  of  its  pubhcation 
and' the  effect  it  had  produced.  "It  takes,"  wrote  he,  ''be- 
yond all  imagination  ;  there  is  no  example  of  such  a  S2iccess." 
Tliis  public  favor,  totally  unsolicited  as  it  was,  and  towards 
an  unknown  author,  gave  me  the  first  real  assurance  of 
my  talents,  of  which,  notwithstanding  my  instinct  on  the 
subject,  I  had  always  hitherto  had  doubts.  I  perceived 
all  the'  advantage,  to  the  course  I  was  about  to  pursue, 
that  might  be  drawn  from  this  circumstance  ;  and  judged 
that  a  copyist  of  some  celebrity  in  literature  was  not  likely 
to  want  employment. 

As  soon  as  my  mind  was  fully  made  up,  and  my  resolu- 
tion determined  upon,  I  wrote  a  note  to  M.  de  Francueil, 
communicating  my  intentions  to  him,  thanking  him,  as  also 
Madam  Dupin,  for  all  their  kindness  to  me,  and  requesting 
their  patronage  in  my  new  line.     Francueil  could  not  un- 
derstand a  word  of  the  note,  and  thinking  me  still  in  the 
dehrium  of  fever,  he  hastened  to  me  ;  but  he  found  my  res- 
olution so  firm,  that  he  could  not  succeed   in  shaking  it. 
He  went  away,  and  told  Madam  Dupin  and  everybody  he 
met,  that   I  was  insane  ;  I  let  him  say  his  say,  and  went 
on  my  way.     I  began  my  reform  in  my  dress  :   I  left  off 
gold  facings  and  white  stockings  ;   I  put  on  a  round  wig, 
laid  aside  my  sword,  and  sold  my  watch,  saying  to  myself 
with   inexpressible  pleasure,   "Thank  heaven,  I  shall   no 
longer  want  to  know  the  hour  !"     M.  de  Francueil  had  the 
kindness  to  wait  a  considerable   time  before  disposing  of 
my  place.     At  length,  seeing  my  determination  fixed,  he 
gave  it  to  M.  d'Alibard,   formerly  tutor  to  young  Chenon- 
ceaux,  and  known  as  a  botanist  by  his  Flora  Parisiensis.  * 

*  I  doubt  not  but  this  whole  aflair  may  now  be  told  very  difi'erentlj 
by  M.  de  Francueil  and  his  confederates  ;   but  I  appeal  to  what  he  said 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  VIII.    1150 — 1152.  99 

How  severe  soever  my  sumptuary  reform  may  have 
been,  I  did  not  at  first  extend  it  to  my  linen,  of  which 
I  had  a  large  and  fine  stock,  the  remainder  of  my  outfit 
for  Venice,  and  to  which  I  was  particularly  attached.  By 
dint  of  making  it  an  object  of  cleanliness,  it  became  one 
of  luxury,  and  rather  an  expensive  article  into  the  bar- 
gain. Somebody  did  me  the  favor  to  free  me  from  this 
bondage.  On  Christmas  eve,  while  the  'Governesses' 
were  at  vespers  and  I  at  a  sacred  concert,  some  one 
broke  open  the  door  of  a  garret  where  all  our  linen  was 
hanging  after  a  recent  washing.  The  whole  was  stolen, 
and  among  the  rest  forty-two  of  my  shirts,  of  very  fine 
linen,  forming  the  chief  part  of  my  stock.  From  the  de- 
scription the  neighbors  gave  of  a  man  who  was  seen  com- 
ing out  of  the  hotel  about  that  same  time,  carrying  various 
bundles,  Therese  and  myself  suspected  her  brother,  whom 
we  knew  to  be  a  very  worthless  character.  The  mother 
with  might  and  main  repelled  the  charge  ;  but  so  many 
circumstances  confirmed  it,  that  our  opinion  still  remained 
the  same  for  all  that.  I  dared  not  make  any  very  strict 
search  for  fear  of  finding  more  than  I  wanted  to.  The 
brother  never  showed  his  face  again,  and  finally  disappeared 
altogether.  I  deplored  the  lot  of  Therese  and  myself  in 
being  connected  with  such  a  family,  and  exhorted  her  more 
than  ever  to  shake  off  so  dangerous  a  yoke.  This  occur- 
rence cured  me  of  my  passion  for  fine  linen,  and  ever  since 
then  I  have  had  nothing  but  a  very  common  article,  more 
in  accordance  with  the  rest  of  my  dress. 

Having  thus  completed  my  reformation,  my  only  care 
was  to  render  it  stable  and  lasting.  To  this  end  I  strove 
to  uproot  from  my  heart  everything  tinged  with  the  opin- 
ions of  the  world,  whatever  might,  by  the  fear  of  blame, 
turn  me  aside  from  what  was  good  and  reasonable  in  itself. 
By  the  help  of  the  noise  my  work  made,  my  resolution  got 
spread  abroad  also,  thus  bringing  me  practice,  so  that  I 
began  my  new  profession  quite  successfully.  Various 
causes,  however,  prevented  my  getting  on  so  well  as  I 
should  otherwise  have  done.     And  fir.'<t,  there  was  my  ill 

of  it  at  the  time,  and  long  afterwards,  to  everybody,  until  the  forma- 
tion of  the  conspiracj' — matters  whereof  many  people  of  good  sense  and 
good  faith  must  have  preserved  the  remembrance. 


100  Rousseau's  confessions. 

health.     The  attack  I  had  just  had  was  followed  by  ef- 
fects from  which  I  never  completely  recovered  ;  and  I  tbmk 
the  doctors  to  whose  care  I  entrusted  myself,  did  me  as 
much  harm   as  my  malady  itself.     I  was   successively  m 
the  hands  of  Morand,  Daran,  Helvetius,  Malouiu,  Thierry 
—men  very  able  in  their  profession,   and  all  of  them  my 
friends.     They  treated  me  each  after  his  fashion,  without 
doing  me  any  good,  but  greatly  weakeuing  me.     The  more 
I  submitted  to  their  directions,  the  yellower,  thinner  and 
weaker  I   became.      My  imagination,  terrified   by  them 
measuring  my  state  by  the  effect  of  their  drugs,  presented 
nothing  on  this  side  the  tomb  but  a  succession  of  sufferings 
from  retentions,  the  stone,  gravel,  and  what  not.     Every 
thing  that  gave  relief  to  others,  ptisans,  baths  and  bleeding, 
increased  my  tortures.    Noticing  that  Daran's  probes,  which 
alone  produced  any  effect,  and  without  which  I  deemed 
it  impossible  for  me  to  live,  gave  but  a  momentary  relief, 
I  set  to  procuring,  at  a  great  expense,  an  immense  stock  of 
probes,  so  as  never  to  be  at  a  loss  for  them,  even  in  case 
of  Daran's  death.     During  the  eight  or  tea  years  when  I 
made  such  frequent  use  of  them,  they  must,  with  what  1 
have  left,  have  cost  me  as  much  as  fifty  louis.     You  may 
well  think  that  so  expensive  and  so  painful  a  treatment  did 
not  allow  my  working  uninterruptedly,   and  that  a  dying 
man  is  not  apt  to  be  very  ardently  industrious  in  earning 

his  daily  bread.  , 

Literary  occupations  were  another  interruption  not  less 
prejudicial  to  my  daily  labor.  Scarcely  had  my  Dissertation 
appeared  than  the  defenders  of  letters  fell  en  masse  upon  me 
Disgusted  at  seemg  so  many  pretentious  blockheads,  who  did 
not  even  understand  the  question,  attempting  their  ex  ca- 
thedra decisions,  I  took  up  my  pen  and  treated  some  of  them 
after  such  a  fashion  as  rather  to  tm-n  the  tables.  A  certain 
M  Gautier,  of  Nanci,  who  first  fell  under  my  pen,  got  pretty 
rou"-hly  handled  in  a  letter  to  M.  Grimm.  The  second  was 
KuTg  Stanislaus  himself,  who  did  not  disdain  entering  the 
Usts  with  me.  The  honor  he  did  me  forced  me  to  change  my 
tone  in  replying  to  him  :  I  assumed  a  graver,  though  no  less 
nervous  a  style  ;  and  without  manifesting  any  lack  of  respect 
to  the  author,  I  completely  refuted  the  work.  I  knew  that 
a  Jesuit,  named  Father  Menou,  had  had  a  hand  m  it :  so 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VIII.      1750 — 1152.  101 

trusting  to  my  tact  to  separate  wh-at  was  the  monk's  from 
what  was  the  prince's,  I  came  down  unmercifully  on  all  the 
Jesuitical  phrases,  showing  up  as  I  went  along  an  anachron- 
ism which  I  thought  could  come  from  nobody  but  the  priest. 
This  critique  which,  I  know  not  why,  attracted  less  attention 
than  any  of  my  other  writings,  has  remamed  up  to  the  pres- 
ent time  a  work  unique  in  its  kind.  I  seized  the  opportunity 
it  offered  to  show  the  public  how  a  private  individual  may 
defend  the  truth  against  even  a  sovereign.  It  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  hit  on  a  more  dignified  and  at  the  same  time  mors 
respectful  tone  than  that  I  assumed  in  replying  to  him.  I 
had  the  good  fortune  to  have  to  do  with  an  adversary  for 
whom  I  entertained  a  heart-felt  esteem  and  to  whom  I  could, 
without  adulation,  testify  it.  This  I  did  successfully,  though 
always  with  dignity.  My  friends,  terrified  for  my  safety, 
imagined  they  already  saw  me  in  the  Bastille.  This  appre- 
hension never  for  a  moment  entered  my  head  ;  and  I  was 
right.  The  good  prince,  on  seeing  my  answer,  remarked, 
"All  right  ;  I  have  had  enmigh  of  it — /  shall  not  return  to 
the  chargeP  Since  then,  I  have  received  various  marks  of 
esteem  and  kindness  from  him,  some  of  which  I  shall  have 
occasion  to  speak  of ;  and  my  reply  was  read  and  circulated 
throughout  France  and  Europe,  without  anyone's  finding 
anything  to  blame  in  it. 

Shortly  afterwards  I  had  another  adversary  I  had  not 
expected  in  that  same  M.  Bordes,  of  Lyons,  who  ten  years 
previous  had  shown  me  much  friendship  and  done  me  various 
services.  I  had  not  forgotten,  but  had  through  indolence 
neglected  him,  and  I  had  not  sent  him  my  m'itings  for  want 
of  a  convenient  opportunity  of  transmitting  them  to  him. 
In  the  wrong  therefore  I  was  ;  he  attacked  me, — politely, 
however,  and  I  replied  in  the  same  manner.  He  rejomed  in 
a  more  decided  tone.  This  gave  rise  to  my  last  answer,  after 
which  he  dropped  the  subject ;  but  he  became  my  most  bit- 
ter enemy,  took  advantage  of  the  time  of  my  misfortunes  to 
pubhsh  frightful  libels  against  me,  and  made  a  journey  to 
London  on  purpose  to  harm  me. 

These  various  controversies  of  course  absorbed  a  great 
deal  of  my  attention,  causing  much  loss  of  time  in  my  copy- 
ing, without  contributing  much  either  to  advance  the  truth 
or  to  fill  my  purse.     Pissot,  then  my  publisher,  never  gave 


102  Rousseau's  confessions. 

me  much  for  my  pamphlets,  and  often  nothing  at  all.  For 
my  first  Dissertation,  for  instance,  I  did  not  get  a  farthing  ; 
Diderot  gave  it  to  hmi.  For  the  little  he  did  give  me  I  had 
to  wait  a  long  time,  and  was  obliged  to  take  it  m  the  merest 
driljblets.  Added  to  this,  my  copying  went  on  but  slowly. 
The  fact  is  I  had  two  pursuits  on  my  hands,— just  the  way 
for  neither  of  them  to  go  on  well. 

These  two  pursuits,  again,  neutralized  each  other  in  an- 
other way  :  in  the  diverse  modes  of  living,  namely,  to  which 
they  subjected  me.  The  success  of  my  first  writings  had 
made  me  fashionable  ;  the  way  of  life  I  had  adopted  excited 
curiosity  :  they  would  know  that  strange  fellow  that  courted 
nobody  and  whose  only  thought  was  to  live  fi-ee  and  happy 
in  his  own  way, — of  course  just  the  means  to  render  that 
unpossible.  My  room  was  never  empty  of  people  who,  under 
one  pretext  or  another,  came  to  take  up  my  tune.  The 
women  employed  a  thousand  artifices  to  get  me  to  dine  with  > 
them.  The  rougher  I  was  with  them,  the  more  persistent 
became  they.  I  could  not  refuse  everybody,  and  while  I 
made  myself  a  thousand  enemies  by  my  refusals,  I  was  mces- 
santly  being  come  over  by  my  complaisance  ;  and  however 
I  managed  it,  I  had  not  an  hour  in  the  day  to  myself  _ 

This  experience  brought  home  to  me  that  it  is  not 
always  as  easy  as  one  imagines  to  be  poor  and  independent. 
I  wished  to  live  by  my  profession  ;  the  public  did  not.  A 
thousand  little  ways  were  devised  of  indemnifying  me  for 
the  time  they  took  up.  The  next  thing,  I  would  have  had 
to  show  myself  like  Punch  and  Judy,  at  so  much  a  head. 
I  know  of  no  slavery  more  complete  or  more  degrading  than 
this.  I  saw  no  other  remedy  than  to  refuse  all  presents 
great  or  small,  making  no  exception  in  the  case  of  anybody 
whatever.  This  only  drew  new  donors  that  were  ambitious 
of  earning  the  glory  of  overcoming  my  resistance  and  com- 
pelling me  to  be  obliged  to  them  in  spite  of  myself.  Many 
who  would  not  have  given  me  fifty  cents,  had  I  asked  them 
for  it,  incessantly  pestered  me  with  their  offers,  and  to  re- 
venge themselves  for  my  refusal,  taxed  me  with  arrogance 
and  ostentation. 

It  will  readily  be  guessed  that  the  course  I  had  taken 
and  the  system  I  wished  to  pursue  were  not  at  all  to  the 
taste  of  Madam  Le  Yasseur.     All  the  daughter's  disiuter- 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VII.     1750 — 1752.  103 

estedness  could  not  prevent  her  from  following  her  mother's 
directions  ;  and  the  '  governesses,'  as  Gauffecourt  called 
them,  were  not  always  as  firm  in  their  refusals  as  I  was. 
Though  they  concealed  many  things  from  me,  I  saw  enough 
to  know  that  I  did  not  see  all.  This  tormented  me,  not  so 
much  from  the  dread  of  being  accused  of  connivance,  which 
I  could  easily  settle,  as  from  the  bitter  thought  of  never 
being  master  in  my  own  house,  of  never  being  master  of  my- 
self. I  prayed,  conjured,  got  angry,  all  to  no  purpose  ;  the 
mother  made  me  pass  for  an  eternal  scold  and  cross  fellow  ; 
she  held  perpetual  whisperings  with  my  friends  ;  everything 
in  my  own  house  was  a  mystery  and  a  secret  to  me;  and,  not 
to  expose  myself  to  constant  storms,  I  was  glad  to  take  no 
farther  notice  of  what  was  going  on.  To  have  got  out  of 
the  muddle  would  have  required  a  firmness  of  which  I  was 
not  capable.  Complain  I  could,  but  act  I  could  not  ;  so 
they  let  me  say  what  I  pleased  and  went  on  their  way. 

This  perpetual  annoyance,  joined  to  the  daily  importuni- 
ties to  which  I  was  subjected,  at  last  rendered  my  home 
and  my  residence  in  Paris  extremely  disagreeable  to  me. 
Whenever  my  indisposition  permitted  me  to  go  out  and  I 
did  not  let  myself  be  led  ofi"  by  my  acquaintances,  I  walked 
out  alone,  musing  on  my  great  system  and  now  and  then 
committing  something  to  paper  by  the  help  of  a  little  blank 
book  and  a  pencil  I  always  carried  iu  my  pocket.  Thus  it 
was  that  the  unforeseen  drawbacks  to  the  way  of  life  I  had 
chosen  suddenly  led  me  into  literature  as  an  escape,  and 
hence  it  was  that  the  bile  and  ill-humor  that  first  induced  me 
to  think  of  writing  found  their  way  into  my  first  efforts. 

Another  circumstance  contributed  also.  Thrown  spite 
of  myself  into  society  without  having  its  tone  or  being  in  a 
situation  to  adopt  and  conform  myself  thereto,  I  thought  to 
assume  a  way  of  my  own  that  would  dispense  with  my 
conforming  to  the  conventionalisms  of  society.  My  foolish, 
awkward  timidity,  which  I  could  never  get  over,  having  as 
its  foundation  the  fear  of  offending  against  received  fo'-'iis 
and  etiquetts,  I  determined,  so  as  to  emboldetr-aie,  to  ti\ad 
them  under  foot.  I  became  caustic  and  cynical  from  very 
shame,  and  affected  to  despise  the  politeness  I  could  not 
myself  practice.  True,  this  austerity  was  in  accordance  with 
my  new  principles  and  thus  became  ennobled  in  my  soul, 


104  Rousseau's  coxfessions. 

rising  to  the  intrepidity  of  virtue  ;  and  it  was,  I  dare  affirm, 
on  this  august  basis  that  it  supported  itself  longer  and 
better  thai,  was  to  be  expected  from  any  effort  so  contrary 
to  my  nature.  And  yet,  notwithstanding  the  reputation  of 
misanthropy  that  my  exterior  and  certain  happy  expressions 
had  given  me  in  the  world,  it  is  certain  that  in  private,  I 
sustained  the  character  but  poorly  ;  that  my  friends  and 
acquaintances  led  the  wild  bear  about  like  a  lamb,  and  that, 
confining  my  sarcasms  to  severe  but  general  truths,  I  never 
said  an  uncivil  thing  to  anybody  whatever. 

The  Devin  du  Village  capped  the  climax  of  my  popula- 
rity, and  presently  there  was  not  a  man  in  Paris  whose 
company  was  more  sought  after  than  mine.  The  history  of 
this  piece,  which  marks  an  era  in  my  life,  should  be  develop- 
ed in  connection  with  the  account  of  my  connections  during 
this  period.  Into  this  detail  I  must  enter  somewhat,  for 
the  better  understanding  of  what  is  to  follow. 

I  had  numerous  acquaintances,  but  only  two  friends 
from  choice — Diderot  and  Grimm.  As  the  result  of  the 
desire  I  have  always  felt  to  bring  together  everything  dear 
to  me,  I  was  too  much  a  friend  of  both  of  them  not  soon 
to  become  friends  of  each  other.  I  had  them  make  each 
others'  acquaintance,  they  liked  each  other  and  ere  long  be- 
came more  intimate  than  they  were  with  me.  Diderot  had 
friends  without  number  ;  but  Grimm,  a  stranger  and  new- 
comer, had  his  yet  to  make.  I  did  not  ask  better  than  to 
assist 'him.  Diderot  I  had  already  introduced  him  to  ;  I 
now  made  him  acquainted  with  Gauffecourt  ;  I  took  him  to 
Madam  de  Cheuoneeaux's,  to  Madam  d'Epiuay's,  to  the 
Baron  d'Holbach's,  with  whom  I  had  almost  in  spite  of 
myself  got  connected.  All  my  friends  became  his,  which 
was  natural  enough  ;  but  not  one  of  his  became  mine, 
which  was  not  quite  so  much  so.  During  the  time  he  lived 
with  Count  Triese,  he  often  invited  us  to  dine  with  hun  ; 
but  I  never  received  the  least  mark  of  friendship  or  kind- 
ness from  Count  Triese,  nor  yet  from  his  relative  Count 
Schomberg  who  was  very  intimate  with  Grimm,  nor  from 
any  person,  man  or  woman,  with  whom  Grimm  was  through 
them  connected.  I  make  the  single  exception  of  the  Abbe 
Raynal,  who,  thougii  a  friend  of  his,  proved  mine  also,  and 
offered  me  his  purse   when  occasion  required,  with  rare 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VIII.     1T50 — 1*152.  105 

generosity.  But  I  knew  the  Abbe  Raynal  long  before 
Grimm  himself  was  acquainted  with  him,  and  had  always 
entertained  a  great  regard  for  him  ever  since  a  very  deli- 
cate kindness  he  did  uie.  The  occasion  was  a  very  trifling 
one,  but  the  act  I  shall  never  forget. 

That  Abbe  Raynal  is  certainly  a  warm  friend.  Of  this 
I  had  a  proof,  much  about  this  same  time,  in  the  case  of 
Grimm  himself,  with  whom  he  was  very  intimate.  Grimm, 
after  having  been  for  some  time  on  friendly  terms  with  Mile. 
Fel,  took  it  into  his  head  to  full  violently  in  love  with  her 
and  tried  to  supplant  Cahusac.  The  lady,  piquing  herself 
on  her  constancy,  gave  the  new-comer  the  mitten  ;  where- 
upon he  took  the  affair  quite  tragically,  and  got  the  idea  of 
dying  over  it.  Suddenly,  he  fell  into  the  strangest  malady 
probably  ever  heard  of.  Repassed  whole  days  and  nights  in 
a  continual  lethargy,  his  eyes  meanwhile  open  and  his  pulse 
beating  regularly,  but  without  speaking,  eating  or  moving, 
seeming  at  times  to  hear  what  was  said,  but  never  replying, 
not  even  by  a  sign  ;  withal,  without  agitation,  without  pain, 
without  fever,  lying  there  as  though  he  had  been  dead.  The 
Abbe  Raynal  and  myself  took  turns  in  watching  over  him  ; 
the  Abbe,  robuster  and  in  better  health  than  myself  remain- 
ed with  him  during  the  night,  while  I  stayed  during  the 
day.  We  stayed  there  without  leaving  him,  though  never 
together,  and  the  one  never  left  till  the  other  had  arrived. 
Count  Triese  getting  alarmed  on  his  account,  sent  him 
Senac,  who  after  carefully  examining  him,  said  there  was 
notliing  to  apprehend,  and  left  no  prescription.  My  fears 
for  my  friend  led  me  to  observe  the  doctor's  countenance 
narrowly,  and  I  noticed  him  smile  as  he  went  away.  How- 
ever, the  patient  remained  several  days  motionless,  without 
taking  soup  or  anything  else,  except  a  few  preserved 
cherries  which  I  put  from  time  to  time  on  his  tongue  and 
which  he  swallowed  very  readily.  One  fine  morning  he 
rose,  dressed  himself  and  returned  to  his  usual  way  of  life, 
without  his  ever  speaking  either  to  me  or,  as  far  as  I  know, 
to  the  Abbe  Raynal,  or  any  body  else,  of  this  singular 
lethargy,  or  of  the  care  we  had  taken  of  him  whilst  it 
lasted. 

Tills  adventure  did  not  fail  to  get  noised  abroad  ;  and  it 
would  really  have  been  a  very  marvelous  anecdote  had  the 
11.  5* 


106  Rousseau's  confessions. 

cruelty  of  an  opera  girl  made  a  man  die  of  despair.  This 
romantic  affair  brought  Grimm  quite  into  vogue,  and  ere 
long  he  passed  for  a  prodigy  of  love,  friendship,  and  attach- 
ment of  every  kind.  This  reputation  made  him  greatly 
sought  after  and  feted  in  the  fashionable  world,  and  there- 
by separated  him  from  me,  whom,  any  way,  he  had  never 
looked  upon  but  as  a  make-shift.  Nay,  I  saw  him  on  the 
point  of  breaking  quite  away  from  me  ;  for  the  ardent  sen- 
timents he  paraded  before  people  were  those  which,  with 
less  ado,  I  really  felt  towards  him.  I  was  very  glad  he  was 
getting  along  so  well,  but  could  have  wished  that  his  suc- 
cess had  not  been  obtained  by  neglecting  his  friend.  I  said 
to  him  one  day,  "  Grimm,  you  are  neglecting  me  :  I  forgive 
you  for  it  ;  but  when  the  first  intoxication  of  your  brilliant 
success  is  over  and  you  realize  the  emptiness  of  it,  I  hope 
you'll  return  to  me, — you  will  find  me  still  the  same  :  for 
the  present,  do  not  constrain  yourself  ;  I  leave  you  free  and 
await  you."  He  replied  that  I  was  right,  made  his  arrange- 
ments accordingly  and  bothered  his  head  so  little  about  me 
that  I  saw  no  more  of  him,  except  in  company  with  our 
common  friends. 

Our  chief  meeting-place,  before  he  was  so  intimate  with 
Madam  d'Epinay  as  he  afterwards  became,  was  at  the 
house  of  Baron  d'Holbach.  Said  Baron  was  the  son  of  a 
parvenu,  and  had  quite  a  large  fortune,  which  he  used  no- 
bly, receiving  at  his  house  men  of  worth  and  letters,  among 
whom  his  culture  made  liim  well  worthy  of  holding  a  place. 
Long  connected  with  Diderot,  he  had  endeavored  by  his 
means  to  make  my  acquaintance,  even  before  my  name  be- 
came known  to  the  world.  A  natural  repugnance  long  pre- 
vented my  acceding  to  his  advances.  One  day,  on  his 
isking  me  the  reason  of  my  backwardness,  I  told  him, 
'*  You  are  too  rich."  He  persisted,  however,  and  carried 
his  point.  My  greatest  misfortune  has  always  been  my 
inability  to  resist  kindly  pressing  :  I  have  never  been  very 
well  satisfied  after  giving  in  to  it. 

Another  acquaintance  that  ripened  into  friendship  as 
Boon  as  I  could  lay  claim  to  the  title,  was  that  of  M.  Diiclos. 
1  had  seen  him  for  the  first  time  at  La  Chevrette,  several 
years  previous,  at  the  house  of  Madam  d'Epinay  with  whom 
he  was  on  very  intimate  terms.     We  simply  dined  together, 


PKRIOD  II     BOOK  VIII.      1*150 — 1752.  lOT 

he  leaving  the  same  day  ;  though  we  had  few  minutes' 
conversation  after  dinner.  Madam  d'Epinay  had  spoken  to 
him  of  me  and  of  my  Opera  of  the  '  Muses  Galantes.' 
Duelos,  too  gifted  himself  not  to  admire  talent  in  others, 
took  a  liking  to  me  and  invited  me  to  go  and  see  him. 
But,  spite  of  my  old  inclination,  strengthened,  too,  by 
acquaintance,  my  timidity,  my  indolence  withheld  me  so 
long  as  I  had  no  other  passport  to  him  save  his  complai- 
sance. Encouraged,  however,  by  my  first  success  and  the 
praises  it  brought  me,  I  went  to  see  him,  he  came  to  see 
me,  and  so  began  those  ties  between  us  which  will  ever 
render  him  dear  to  me.  To  him  I  am  indebted  for  the 
assurance  of  the  testimony  of  my  heart  that  uprightness 
and  probity  are  not  absolutely  incompatible  with  the  cultiva- 
tion of  letters. 

My  other  less  solid  connections,  of  which  I  shall  make 
no  mention,  resulted  from  my  first  success,  and  lasted  till 
curiosity  was  sated.  1  was  a  man  so  soon  seen,  that  peo- 
ple had  nothing  new  to  learn  the  next  day.  There  was  a 
woman,  however,  who  sought  my  acquaintance  at  that  time, 
and  who  held  on  more  firmly  than  all  the  others.  This  was 
the  Marchioness  de  Crequi,  a  niece  of  M.  Le  Bailli  de  Frou- 
lay.  Ambassador  to  Malta,  whose  brother  had  preceded 
M.  de  Montaigu  in  the  embassy  to  Venice,  and  whom  I  had 
gone  to  see  on  my  return  from  that  city.  Madam  de  Crequi 
wrote  to  me  ;  I  went  to  see  her,  and  she  conceived  a  friend- 
ship for  me.  I  dined  with  her  at  times  and  met  at  her  table 
several  literary  men,  among  others,  M.  Saurin,  the  author 
of  Sparticus,  Barmveldt,  etc.,  since  become  my  implacable 
enemy, — why,  I  know  not,  unless  it  be  that  I  bear  the 
name  of  a  man  his  father  very  vilely  persecuted. 

It  must  be  apparent  that,  for  a  copyist,  that  ought  to  be 
about  his  business  from  morning  to  night,  I  had  many  inter- 
ruptions that  rendered  my  day  far  from  lucrative,  and  pre- 
vented my  paying  attention  enough  to  what  I  did  do  to  do 
it  well,  so  that  half  the  time  I  had  left  was  lost  in  scratch- 
ing out  mistakes  or  beginning  my  sheet  over  again.  This 
importunity  rendered  Paris  daily  more  insupportable  to  me, 
and  made  me  eagerly  long  after  the  country.  I  went  several 
times  and  passed  a  few  days  at  Marcoussis,  with  the  vicar  of 
which  Madam  Le  Yasseur  was  acquainted,  and  with  whom 


108  Rousseau's  confessions. 

we  made  an  arrangement  that  was  agreeable  to  him.  On 
one  occasion  Grimm  accompanied  us.*  The  vicar  had  a 
good  voice  and  sang  well ;  and  though  he  did  not  read  music, 
he  learnt  his  part  with  great  facUity  and  precision.  We 
spent  the  time  singing  my  Chenonceaux  trios.  To  these  I 
added  two  other  new  ones  adapted  to  words  Grimm  and  the 
vicar  tinkered  up.  I  cannot  help  regretting  these  trios,  com- 
posed and  sung  in  moments  of  pm'est  joy,  and  which  I  left  at 
Wooton  along  with  all  my  music.  Mile.  Davenport  may 
very  likely  by  this  time  have  made  curling-papers  out  of  them; 
but  they  were  worth  keeping,  and  are  for  the  most  part  of  a 
very  good  counterpoint.  It  was  after  one  of  these  little  jour- 
nies,  when  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  '  aunt'  very  gay 
and  contented,  and  during  which  I  too  had  a  very  fine  time, 
that  I  wrote  the  vicar  an  epistle  in  verse,  which  will  be 
found  among  my  papers.  It  was  done  rapidly,  however,  and 
is  but  indifferent. 

I  had  another  stopping-place  much  to  my  liking  near 
Paris  with  my  countryman  M.  Mussard,  my  friend  and  rela- 
tive, who  had  built  him  a  charming  retreat  at  Passy,  where 
I  spent  many  a  delightful  hour.  M.  Mussard  was  a  jeweller, 
a  man  of  excellent  good  sense,  who  after  having  acquired  a 
handsome  fortune  in  his  business  and  married  his  only  daugh- 
ter to  M.  de  Yalmalette,  son  of  an  exchange  broker  and 
maiire  d'hote!  to  the  king,  formed  the  wise  resolution  of  re- 
tiring in  his  old  days  from  business  and  affairs,  and  enjoymg 
an  interval  of  repose  between  the  turmoU  of  life  and  the  end 
of  his  mortal  career.  The  good  Mussard,  a  genuine  practi- 
cal philosopher,  lived  free  from  care,  in  a  very  agreeable 
house  he  had  built,  surrounded  by  a  beautiful  garden  he  had 
planted  with  his  own  hands.  Whilst  digging  the  terraces  of 
his  garden,  he  had  lit  on  some  fossil  shells,  which  increased  to 
so  great  an  amount,  that  his  heated  imagination  saw  naught 
but  shells  ui  nature,  and  he  came  honestly  to  believe  that  the 
whole  universe  was  composed  of  shells  or  remains  of  shells, 

•  As  I  have  neglected  here  to  relate  a  trifling  but  memorable  adven- 
ture I  had  with  the  said  M.  Grimm,  one  morning  when  we  were  to  have 
gone  and  dined  at  the  fountain  of  Saint  Vaudville,  I  shall  let  it  pas3  ;  but 
in  subsequently  thiniiing  over  the  matter,  I  concluded  that  he  was  then 
brooding  over  in  his  mind  the  conspirac}'  he  afterwards  carried  out  with 
such  prodigious  success. 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VIII.     1750 — 1752.  109 

and  the  earth  nothing  but  a  composite  of  the  same  article. 
Constantly  absorbed  in  this  idea  and  his  singular  discoveries, 
he  got  so  heated  over  them  that  tliey  would  at  last  have 
turned  themselves  into  a  system,  that  is  a  mania,  in  his  head, 
if,  very  happily  for  his  reason,  though  very  unhappily  for  his 
friends,  to  whom  he  was  dear,  and  who  found  his  house  the 
pleasantest  possible  asylum,  death  had  not  removed  him  from 
them  by  the  strangest  and  most  cruel  malady — namely,  a  tu- 
mor in  the  stomach,  which,  constantly  increasing,  prevented 
him  from  eating,  without  their  being  able  for  a  long  time  to 
discover  the  cause  thereof,  and  which  ended  after  several 
years  of  suffering  by  absolutely  causing  him  to  die  of 
hunger.  I  cannot  recall  without  many  a  bitter  pang  the  lat- 
ter end  of  that  poor,  worthy  man  ;  with  how  much  pleasure 
he  received  Lenieps  and  myself,  of  all  his  friends  the  only  ones 
whom,  up  tiU  the  very  last,  the  sight  of  his  sufferings  did  not 
drive  away.  Poor  man,  he  was  reduced  to  devouring  with 
his  eyes  the  repasts  he  caused  to  be  served  to  us,  being 
hardly  able  to  swallow  a  few  drops  of  weak  tea,  and  which, 
when  swallowed,  came  up  next  minute.  Before  these  sad 
times,  however,  how  many  agreeable  days  have  I  passed  at 
his  hoase  along  with  the  chosen  friends  he  had  gathered 
around  him.  At  the  head  of  these  I  place  the  Abbe  Pre- 
vost,  a  very  amiable,  unaffected  man,  whose  heart  gave  Mfe 
to  his  writings,  themselves  well  deservmg  of  immortahty,  and 
who  neither  in  his  disposition  nor  in  company  had  any  of 
that  somberuess  he  gave  to  his  works  ;  Procope,  the  physi- 
cian, a  httle  JEsop,  and  a  great  favorite  with  the  ladies  ; 
Boulanger,  the  celebrated  posthumous  author  of  Oriental 
Despotism,  and  who,  I  think,  was  developing  Musard's  sys- 
tem on  the  duration  of  the  world  :  in  the  way  of  women, 
there  was  Madam  Denis,  the  niece  of  Voltaire,  then  simply 
a  worthy  creature  without  any  pretensions  to  wit  ;  Madam 
Vanloo,  not  handsome,  to  be  sure,  but  charming,  and  who 
sang  hke  an  angel ;  Madam  de  Yalmalette  herself,  who  sang 
also,  and  who,  though  very  thin,  would  have  been  very  amia- 
ble had  she  had  not  so  much  pretension  in  that  way.  Such,  or 
nearly  so,  was  M.  Mussard's  ch-cle  of  friends — people  whose 
company  I  should  have  enjoyed  very  much,  had  I  not  liked 
private  intercourse  with  himself,  spite  of  his  conchyUomania, 
better  ;  and  I  can  truly  declare  that  for  over  six  months  I 


110  Rousseau's  CONFESSIONS. 

worked  with  him  in  his  cabuiet  with  as  much  pleasure  as  he 
felt  himself. 

He  had  long  insisted  on  the  virtues  of  the  waters  of 
Passy  and  how  salutary  they  would  be  to  me  in  my  condition, 
and  had  recommended  me  to  come  to  his  house  and  drink 
them.  As  a  temporary  escape  from  the  tumult  of  the  city, 
I  at  last  went  and  passed  eight  or  ten  days  at  Passy,  which 
did  me  more  good  because  I  was  in  the  country  than  because 
I  drank  the  waters.  Mussard  played  on  the  violencello  and 
was  passionately  fond  of  Italian  music.  This  formed  the  sub- 
ject of  a  long  conversation  one  evening  before  going  to  bed  ; 
we  spoke  in  particular  about  the  ofere  huffe  which  we  had 
both  of  us  seen  in  Italy,  and  with  which  we  were  highly  de- 
lighted :  My  sleep  having  left  me  that  night,  I  went  off  into 
a  reverie  as  to  how  it  might  be  brought  about  to  give  the 
French  public  an  idea  of  this  sort  of  drama,  for  ks  Amours 
de  Ragonde  bear  no  resemblance  thereto.  Next  morning 
whilst  taking  my  walk  and  drinking  the  waters,  I  hastUy 
put  together  a  few  verses  to  which  I  adapted  such  airs  as 
occm"red  to  me  at  the  moment.  I  scribled  the  whole  in  a 
kmd  of  vaulted  saloon  at  the  end  of  the  gard/n,  and  at  tea 
I  could  not  refrain  from  showing  the  ahs  to  Mussard  and 
Mile.  Duvernois,  his  gouver%ante,  who  was  really  a  very  good, 
amiable  girl.  The  three  morceaux  I  had  sketched  out  were 
the  first  monologue,  J'ai perdu  mon  se,rviteur  (I've  lost  my  ser- 
vant) ;  the  air  of  the  Devin,  L'  amour  croit  sHl  sHnquiete 
(Love  grows,  if  restless)  and  the  last  duet,  A  jamais,  Colin, 
je  f engage  (For  aye,  I  charge  thee,  Colin).  So  far  was  I 
from  thinking  the  thing  worth  whUe  going  on  with  that,  had 
it  not  been  for  the  applause  and  encouragement  of  them  both, 
I  should  have  gone  and  thrown  the  sketch  into  the  fire,  as  I 
had  often  done  by  things  quite  as  good  at  least :  but  they  so 
animated  me  that  in  six  days  my  drama  was  written  with 
the  exception  of  a  few  verses,  and  all  my  music  sketched  out, 
so  that  all  1  had  to  do  on  my  return  to  Paris  was  to  com- 
pose a  Uttle  of  the  recitative  and  all  the  filling  up,  and  I  fin- 
ished it  so  rapidly  that  in  three  weeks  my  scenes  were  got 
into  complete  order  and  ready  for  representation.  The  only 
thing  now  wanting  was  the  divertisement  which  was  not 
composed  till  long  afterwards. 

(1152)     Warmed  up  by  the  composition  of  this  work,  I 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  VIII.       1752.  Ill 

had  a  very  strong  desire  to  hear  it,  and  I  would  have  given 
every  thing  in  the  world  to  have  seen  it  represented  after  my 
fantasy,  with  closed  doors,  as  it  is  said  LulU  once  had  Armide 
played,  just  for  himself.  As  it  was  not  possible  for  me  to 
have  this  pleasure  but  with  the  public,  to  get  my  piece  played, 
I  had  of  course  to  get  it  received  at  the  Opera.  Unfortu- 
nately it  was  in  an  absolutely  new  style,  to  which  the  ears 
of  the  pubhc  were  not  accustomed  ;  and  besides,  the  ill  suc- 
cess of  the  'Muses  Galantes'  gave  me  fears  for  the  Devin,  if  I 
presented  it  in  my  own  name.  Duclos  reheved  me  from  this 
difficulty  and  undertook  to  have  this  work  rehearsed  without 
the  author's  name  being  mentioned.  So  as  not  to  discover 
myself,  I  was  not  present  at  this  rehearsal,  and  the  Fetits  vio- 
lins *,  who  conduct  it,  did  not  themselves  know  who  was  the 
author  until  a  general  acclamation  had  borne  testimony  to  the 
excellency  of  the  work.  All  who  heard  it  were  enchanted 
with  it,  and  to  such  a  pitch  did  enthusiasm  reach,  that  the  very 
next  day,  nothing  else  was  spoken  about  in  all  the  circles. 
M.  de  Cury,  Intendant  des  Menus,  who  had  been  present  at 
the  representation,  requested  the  work  for  performance  at 
court.  Duclos,  knowing  my  intentions,  and  judging  that  I 
would  have  less  command  of  my  piece  at  court  than  I  would 
in  Paris,  refused  it.  Cury  claimed  it  authoritatively.  Du- 
clos persisted  iu  the  refusal ;  and  the  dispute  between  them 
became  so  warm  that,  one  day  at  the  Opera  they  were  pre- 
paring to  go  out  over  it,  had  they  not  been  separated.  Ap- 
plication was  made  to  me  :  I  referred  it  to  Duclos,  so  that 
they  had  to  return  to  him.  The  Duke  d'Aumont  interfering 
iu  the  matter,  Duclos  at  last  thought  it  best  to  yield  to  au- 
thority, and  the  piece  was  given  to  be  played  at  Fontaine- 
bleau. 

The  part  I  liked  best,  and  m  which  I  had  departed 
farthest  from  the  common  track,  was  the  recitative.  Mine 
was  accented  after  an  entirely  new  fashion,  and  went  along 
with  the  delivery  of  the  words.  This  horrible  innovation 
they  dared  not  allow— 't  would  quite  shock  their  mutton- 
ears.     Accordingly,  I  consented  that  Francueil  and  Jelyotte 


*This  was  the  name  applied  to  Rebel  and  Francoeur  who  had  made 
themselves  known  from  their  youth  h}'  always  going  together  and  play- 
ing on  the  violin  in  the  various  houses. 


112  Rousseau's  confessions. 

should  get  up  another  recitative,  but  I  would  not  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  it  myself. 

When  all  was  ready  and  the  day  fixed  for  the  perfor- 
mance, they  proposed  that  I  should  go  to  Fontaiuebleau, 
that  I  might  at  least  see  the  last  rehearsal.  I  went,  ac- 
cordingly, along  with  JNIlle.  Fel,  Grhnm,  and,  I  think,  the 
Abbe  Raynal,  ui  one  of  the  court-carriages.  The  rehearsal 
was  passable  ;  I  was  better  satisfied  with  it  than  I  had  ex- 
pected. There  was  a  large  orchestra,  made  up  of  that  of 
the  Opera  and  the  king's  band.  Jelyotte  played  Collin; 
Mile.  Fel,  Colktte;  CuvUier,  the  Devin;  the  choruses  were 
those  of  the  Opera.  I  said  but  little :  Jelyotte  had  directed 
everything  and  I  did  not  wish  to  overrule  what  he  had  done, 
and,  spite  of  my  Roman  air,  I  was  as  bashful  as  a  schoolboy 
among  the  crowd. 

Next  morning,  the  day  of  representation,  I  went  to 
breakfast  at  the  cafe  du  Grand-Commun  where  there  were 
a  great  many  people  assembled.  The  talk  turned  on  yester- 
day's rehearsal,  and  the  diflQculty  that  had  been  experienced 
in  getting  admission.  An  officer  present  remarked  that  he 
got  in  with  the  greatest  ease,  and  then  went  oif  into  a  long 
account  of  what  had  passed,  described  the  author,  told  what 
he  did,  what  he  said ;  but  the  most  marvelous  part  of  his 
quite  long  narrative,  given  with  as  much  assurance  as  simplic- 
ity, was  that  there  was  not  a  word  of  truth  in  it  from  begin- 
nuig  to  end.  It  was  very  evident  to  me  that  the  person 
speaking  so  knowingly  of  the  rehearsal,  had  not  been  present, 
since  right  before  his  eyes,  unrecognized,  stood  the  author 
whom  he  said  he  had  seen.  The  most  singular  part  of  the 
scene  was  the  effect  it  produced  on  me.  The  man  was  rather 
advanced  in  years  ;  there  was  nothing  of  the  coxcomb  in  his 
appearance  ;  his  physiognomy  indicated  a  very  worthy  man, 
whilst  his  cross  of  Saint  Louis  announced  that  he  was  an 
officer  of  long  standing.  He  interested  me,  in  spite  of  his 
impudence,  and  in  spite  of  myself  Whilst  he  poured  forth 
his  volleys  of  lies,  I  blushed,  cast  down  my  eyes  and  was  on 
thorns;  eagerly  did  I  endeavor  to  think  him  in  earnest,  to  think 
that  he  really  believed  what  he  said.  At  length,  trembling  lest 
somebody  should  recognize  me,  and  he  be  confounded,  I  hasten- 
ed to  finish  my  chocolate  without  saying  a  word,  and,  holding 
down  my  head  as  I  passed  him,  I  got  out  as  soon  as  possible, 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  VIII.       1752.  113 

leaving  the  company  to  talk  over  his  narration.  On  reaching 
the  street,  I  perceived  that  I  was  aU  in  a  perspiration,  and 
I  am  sure  that,  had  any  one  recognized  and  named  me  before 
my  leaving,  all  the  shame  and  embarrassment  of  a  guilty 
person  would  have  appeared  on  my  countenance,  at  the 
simple  thought  of  what  the  poor  man  would  have  had  to 
have  suifered,  had  his  he  been  discovered. 

And  now  I  come  to  one  of  those  critical  moments  of 
my  life,  touching  which  it  is  difficult  to  narrate  simply  and 
straightforwardly,  as  it  is  all  but  impossible  for  the  narra- 
tion itself  not  to  bear  the  impress  of  censure  or  apology. 
I  shall  attempt,  however,  to  tell  how  and  from  what  mo- 
tives I  acted,  adding  nothing  either  in  the  way  of  praise 
or^ame. 

"^  On  the  day  referred  to  I  was  in  my  usual  careless  trim, 
with  my  long  beard  aud  not  over  well  combed  wig.  Tak- 
ing this  neglect  of  decency  for  a  piece  of  courage,  I  entered 
just  so  the  room  where  soon  the  king,  queen,  royal  family 
and  all  the  court  were  to  appear.  M.  de  Cury  conducted 
me  to  his  box  :  it  was  a  spacious  proscenium  loge,  opposite 
a  smaller  and  more  elevated  box,  in  which  the  king  sat 
along  with  Madam  de  Pompadour.  Surrounded  by  ladies, 
and  the  only  man  in  the  front  part  of  the  box,  it  was  evi- 
dent they  had  put  me  there  precisely  that  I  might  be  seen. 
On  the  lights  being  turned  on,  finding  myself  in  this  trim 
in  the  midst  of  people  of  excessive  elegant  attire,  I  began 
to  feel  rather  ill  at  ease  :  I  asked  myself  if  I  was  in  my 
place,  if  I  was  suitably  dressed.  '  Yes,'  replied  I,  after 
a  few  minutes  uneasiness,  and  the  '  yes '  came  with  a  vehe- 
mence that  proceeded  perhaps  more  from  the  impossibility 
of  my  backing  out,  than  from  the  weight  of  my  reasons. 
Said  I  to  myself,  '  I  am  in  my  place,  since  I  am  here  by 
invitation  to  see  my  own  piece  played  ;  since  for  that  very 
purpose  I  made  it,  and  since,  after  all,  nobody  has  a  greater 
right  than  I  have  to  enjoy  the  fruit  of  my  own  labor  and 
talent.  I  am  dressed  as  usual,  neither  better  nor  worse  ; 
if  I  begin  to  duck  to  the  opinion  of  the  world  in  one  in- 
stance, how  soon  shall  I  become  a  slave  thereto  in  every 
thing  ?  Consistency  requires  that,  wherever  I  may  be,  I 
shall  not  blush  at  ioeing  attired  in  a  manner  becoming  the 
station  I  have  chosen.     My  exterior  is  simi»k'  and  care- 


114  Rousseau's  confessions. 

less,  but  neither  dirty  nor  slovenly  ;  the  beard  cannot  be 
considered  such,  since  it  is  nature's  own  work,  and  is,  ac- 
cording to  the  time  or  fashion,  itsalf  an  ornament.  I  shall 
be  thought  ridiculous,  impertinent...  well,  what  of  that  ? 
I  ought  to  know  how  to  bear  ridicule  and  censure,  provided 
they°are  undeserved.'  After  this  little  soliloquy,  I  had  so 
wrought  myself  up  that  I  could  have  faced  anything,  had  it 
been  necessary.  But,  whether  it  was  the  effect  of  the  pres- 
ence of  the  master,  or  the  spontaneous  impulse  of  their  hearts, 
I  saw  nothing  but  what  was  kind  and  courteous  in  the  curios- 
ity of  which  I  was  the  object.  So  affected  was  I  at  this,  that 
I  commenced  to  feel  uneasy  for  myself  and  the  fate  of  my 
piece,  dreading  lest  I  should  efface  predilections  so  favora- 
ble, and  disappoint  the  good  hearts,  only  disposed  to  ap- 
preciate and  praise.  I  was  armed  against  raillery  ;  but 
their  kindly  air,  all  unexpected  as  it  was,  quite  vanquished 
me,  and  I  trembled  like  a  child  when  the  performance 
began. 

I  had  soon  ground  for  reassurance.  The  piece  was  very 
badly  played  as  to  the  actors,  but  as  to  the  music,  it  was 
well  sung  and  well  executed.  No  sooner  had  it  opened  with 
the  first  scene,  which  is  really  of  a  touching  naivete,  than  I 
heard  arise  from  the  boxes  around  a  murmur  of  surprise  and 
delight,  totally  unprecedented  in  pieces  of  this  kind.  The 
growing  excitement  ere  long  increased  to  such  a  pitch  as  to 
become  sensible  throughout  the  whole  assembly  The  effect, 
to  speak  a  la  Montesquieu,  was  heightened  by  the  effect  it- 
self. In  the  scene  between  the  two  good  little  folks,  this  ef- 
fect was  at  its  height.  Clapping  is  not  allowed  in  the  king's 
presence,  so  that  everything  was  heard,  and  piece  and  author 
both  gained  thereby.  I  heard  around  me  a  whispering  of 
women  that  seemed  to  my  eyes  beautiful  as  angels,  and  who 
said  to  each  other  in  a  low  tone,  "  That's  charming,  that's 
ravishing — there  is  not  a  note  but  what  goes  to  the  heart." 
The  pleasure  of  giving  emotion  to  so  many  amiable  persons 
moved  me  to  tears  ;  at  the  first  duet,  especially,  I  could  not 
refrain  from  weeping  on  observing  that  I  was  not  the  only 
one  thus  stirred.  1  came  back  to  myself,  however,  for  a  mo- 
ment, on  recalling  the  concert  at  M.  Treitorens'  !*  This  re- 
miniscence had  the  effect  of  the  slave  that  held  the  crown 

•  Vol.  I. 


PERIOD  11.      BOOK  VIII.       1752.  115 

over  the  head  of  the  triumphant  victor  ;  it  was  brief,  how- 
ever, and  I  soon  abandoned  myself  fully  and  uninterruptedly 
to  the  enjoyment  of  my  glory.  I  am  sure,  though,  that  the 
intoxication  the  fair  dames  raised  in  my  heart  had  much 
more  to  do  with  this  feeling  than  autorial  vanity  ;  and  cer- 
tain it  is  that  had  there  been  but  men  present,  I  should  not 
have  been  devoured  as  I  was,  by  the  desire  of  wiping  away 
with  my  lips  the  delicious  tears  I  had  caused  to  flow.  I 
have  known  pieces  excite  livelier  transports  of  admu'ation,  but 
so  complete,  dehghtful  and  affecting  an  intoxication  pervading 
an  audience,  and  especially  a  court-audience,  during  the  en- 
tu-e  representation,  and  that,  too,  a  first  representation,  I 
certainly  never  saw.  Those  present  must  recollect  it,  for  the 
effect  was  unique. 

That  same  evening,  the  Duke  d'Aumont  sent,  desiring 
me  to  be  at  the  chateau  at  eleven,  the  next  day,  and  he 
would  present  me  to  the  king.  M.  de  Curry,  who  brought 
me  the  message,  added  that  he  thought  there  was  a  pension 
in  the  wind,  and  the  king  wished  to  announce  it  to  me  him- 
self 

Will  it  be  believed  that  the  night  following  so  brilliant  a 
day  was  one  of  anguish  and  perplexity  to  me  ?  My  first 
thought,  after  musiug  over  the  reprefientation  we  had  wit- 
nesse'd,  had  reference  to  the  frequent  need  of  retirmg  to 
which  I  was  subject.  This  had  caused  me  a  great  deal  of 
suffering  the  very  night  of  the  reprensentation,  and  might 
possibly  torment  me  on  the  morrow,  when  in  the  gallery  of 
the  palace  or  the  king's  apai'tments,  among  all  the  great 
ones,  waiting  the  king's  passing-by.  This  infirmity  was  the 
principal  cause  that  withheld  me  from  _going  into  company, 
and  prevented  my  frequenting  the  society  of  the  ladies.  The 
mere  idea  of  the  state  this  necessity  might  mduce  was  of  it- 
self enough  to  bring  it  on,  and  that  so  violently  as  to  make 
me  faint  away  :  withal,  there  was  but  one  escape,  and  that 
by  a  revelation,  to  which  I  would  have  preferred  death. 
None  but  persons  who  have  been  brought  to  this  pass  can 
conceive  of  the  horror  of  running  the  risk. 

I  then  imagined  myself  before  the  king,  presented  to  his 
majesty,  and  conceived  his  deigning  to  speak  to  me.  'Twas 
here  that  presence  of  mind  and  guarded  speech  would  be  ne- 
cessary in  replying.     Would  my  cursed  timidity,  which  dis- 


116  ROTTSSEAU'S    CONFESSIONS. 

concerts  me  before  the  most  insignificant  stranger,  take 
flight  while  in  the  presence  of  the  King  of  France,  or  would 
it  allow  me  to  make  choice  on  the  instant  of  fitting  dis- 
course ?  I  wished,  without  laying  aside  the  severe  maimer 
I  had  adopted,  to  show  that  I  was  sensible  of  the  honor  done 
me  by  so  great  a  monarch.  I  desired  to  em\Tap  some  great 
and  useful  truth  in  the  splendid  and  well-merited  praise  I 
should  bestow.  To  prepare  a  happy  reply  would  involve  my 
knowmg  before-hand  exactly  what  he  would  say ;  and,  this  done, 
I  was  very  sure  that  when  I  came  into  his  presence,  I  should 
forget  every  word  of  my  set  speech.  What  would  then  be- 
come of  me,  if,  in  the  eyes  of  the  whole  court  I  should,  in  my 
trouble,  blurt  out  some  of  my  wonted  malapropisms  ?  The 
danger  of  this  possibility,  alarmed,  terrified  me,  nay,  made  me 
so  tremble,  that  I  determmed  that,  come  what  might,  I  would 
not  expose  myself  thereto. 

To  be  sure,  I  lost  the  pension  oifered  me  in  a  manner  ; 
but  I  escaped,  at  the  same  time,  the  yoke  to  which  it  would 
have  subjected  me.  Well  might  I  then  have  bade  adieu  to 
truth,  liberty,  courage  1  How  should  I  ever  after  have  dared 
to  speak  of  independence  or  disinterestedness.  In  receiving 
the  pension  I  must  either  have  become  a  flatterer  or  said 
nothing  at  all.  And  besides  who  was  to  assure  me  that  it 
would  be  paid  me  ?  How  many  steps  would  I  have  had  to 
take,  how  many  people  to  solicit  !  I  should  have  had  more 
trouble  and  more  anxious  cares  in  keeping  it  than  in  doing 
without  it.  And  so  I  thought  I  was  pursuing  the  course  the 
most  accordant  with  my  principles  in  renouncing  it — that  in 
fact  I  was  but  sacrificmg  the  appearance  to  gain  the  reality. 
I  acquainted  Grunm  with  my  resolution,  who  offered  no  ob- 
jection thereto.  To  others  I  alleged  the  state  of  my  healthy- 
and  left  that  very  morning. 

My  departure  made  a  good  deal  of  noise,  and  was  gener- 
ally blamed.  My  reasons  could  not,  of  course,  be  appreciat- 
ed by  everybody  ;  to  accuse  me  of  a  silly  pride  was  a  much 
easier  course,  and  the  verdict  was  greatly  more  satisfactory 
to  the  jealousy  of  such  as  felt  they  would  not  have  acted  so. 
Next  day,  Jelyotte  wrote  me  a  note  giving  me  an  account 
of  the  success  of  my  piece  and  the  pleasure  it  had  aflforded 
the  king.  "  The  day  long,"  he  wrote,  "  the  king  keeps  sing- 
ing with  the  falsest  voice  in  his  kingdom  : 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VIII.       1*152.  11*1 

"J  'ai  perdu  mon  serviteur  ; 
J''ai  perdu  tout  mon  bonheur 

IVe  lost  my  servant ; 

All  my  happiness  is  gone." 

He  added  that  in  a  fortuight  a  second  representation  of 
the  Devin  was  to  be  given  that  would  pubUcly  confirm  the 
complete  success  of  the  first. 

Two  days  afterwards,  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  evenmg, 
as  I  was  going  into  Madam  d'Epinay's,  where  I  was  to  take 
supper,  a  hackney  coach  passed  the  door.  Somebody  with- 
in beckoned  me  to  get  in  ;  I  did  so,  and  on  entering  found 
that  it  was  Diderot.  He  spoke  to  me  about  the  pension 
with  a  warmth  that  I  should  not  have  looked  for  from  a  phi- 
losopher, on  such  a  subject.  He  did  not  blame  me  for  hav- 
ing been  unwilling  to  be  presented  to  the  king  ;  but  he  made 
a  terrible  crime  out  of  my  indifference  to  the  pension.  He 
said  that  though  I  might  be  disinterested  on  my  own  accomit, 
it  was  not  permitted  me  to  be  so  in  the  case  of  Madam  Le 
Vasseur  and  her  daughter  ;  that  it  was  my  duty  to  seize 
every  possible  opportunity  that  honestly  presented  itself  of 
providing  for  their  subsistance  :  and  as,  after  all,  it  could  not 
be  said  that  I  had  refused  the  pension,  he  maintamed  that, 
since  they  had  seemed  disposed  to  grant  it  me,  I  ought  by 
all  means  to  solicit  and  obtain  it.  Though  I  was  touched 
by  his  zeal,  I  could  not  swallow  his  maxuns,  and  we  had 
quite  a  sharp  tussel  over  it — the  first  I  had  with  him.  All 
our  subsequent  disputes  were  of  the  same  kind,  he  prescribing 
to  me  what  he  pretended  I  ought  to  do,  and  I  defending  my- 
self, because  I  thought  I  ought  not. 

It  was  late  when  we  parted.  I  tried  to  get  him  to  go 
along  with  me  and  take  supper  at  Madam  d'Epinay's,  but 
he  would  not  do  it  ;  and  notwithstanding  all  the  efforts 
which  the  desire  of  bringing  together  those  I  love  induced 
me  at  various  times  to  put  forth  to  get  him  to  see  her,  even 
to  bringing  her  to  his  door  which  he  kept  shut  against  us, 
he  constantly  refused,  and  never  spoke  of  her  but  with  the 
utmost  contempt.  It  was  not  till  after  my  fall  out  with  her 
and  with  him,  that  they  became  acquainted  and  that  he  be- 
gan to  speak  honorably  of  her. 

From  this  time  forth,  Diderot  and  Grimm  seem  to  have 
gone  to  work  to  alienate  the  *  governesses '  from  me,  giv- 


118  Rousseau's  confessions. 

ing  them  to  understand,  that  if  they  were  not  in  easy  cir- 
cumstances, the  fault  lay  in  my  ill  will,  and  that  they  would 
never  get  on  along  with  me.  They  tried  to  get  them  to 
leave  me,  promising  them  a  salt-license,  a  tobacco-shop, 
and  I  know  not  what  other  good  things,  through  the  in- 
fluence of  Madam  d'Epinay.  They  even  attempted  to  gain 
over  Duclos,  as  also  d'Holbach,  to  their  ends  ;  but  the 
former  constantly  refused.  I  got  some  little  inkling  of 
what  was  going  on  at  the  time,  but  it  was  not  till  long 
afterwards  that  I  became  aware  of  it  in  all  its  bearings  ; 
and  I  had  often  occasion  to  deplore  the  blind  and  indis- 
creet zeal  of  my  friends  who,  seeking  to  reduce  me,  bur- 
dened as  I  was  by  my  infirmity,  to  the  most  melancholy 
solitude,  were  laboring  at  their  idea  of  making  me  happy 
by  means  of  all  others  the  best  fitted  in  reality  to  render 
me  miserable. 

(1753.)  The  following  carnival,  1753,  the  Devin  was 
played  at  Paris,  and  I  had  time,  meanwhile,  to  put  to- 
gether the  overture  and  the  divertissement  for  it.  This 
divertissement,  as  it  stands  engraved,  should  be  in  action 
during  the  whole  progress  of  the  plot,  as  also  consequent 
in  subject,  which,  in  my  thought,  would  furnish  a  series  of 
very  agreeable  tableaux.  But  when  I  proposed  the  idea 
to  the  Opera  people,  nobody  would  so  much  as  listen  to  me, 
and  so,  songs  and  dances  had  to  be  tacked  together  after 
the  usual  fashion  :  the  result  was  that  the  divertissement, 
though  full  of  charming  ideas,  which  take  nothing  from  the 
beauty  of  the  scenes,  met  v/ith  but  a  very  middling  success. 
I  suppressed  Jelyotte's  recitative,  and  substituted  my  own 
such  as  I  at  first  composed  it  and  as  it  is  engraved  ;  and 
this  recitative,  a  little  freyickified,  I  confess,  that  is,  drauled 
out  by  the  actors,  far  from  shocking  anybody,  was  equally 
admired  with  the  airs,  and  seemed  in  the  judgment  of 
the  public  to  possess  at  least  as  much  musical  merit.  I  dedi- 
cated my  piece  to  M.  Duclos,  who  had  given  it  his  protec- 
tion, and  I  declared  that  it  should  be  my  only  dedication. 
I  did,  however,  make  a  second  with  his  consent ;  but  the 
exception  was  such  an  one,  that  he  must  have  esteemed 
the  breach  of  my  promise  as  honoring  him  more  than  would 
the  observance. 

I  could  tell  many  an  anecdote  about  this  piece,  but 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  VIII     1753.  119 

matters  of  greater  importance  will  not  allow  me  here  to  en- 
ter into  any  detail.  It  may  be  that  I  shall  at  some  future 
day  resume  the  subject  in  the  supplement.  There  is  one, 
however,  that  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  omit,  as  it  has  an 
intimate  bearing  on  what  is  to  follow.  I  was  one  day  look- 
ing over  Baron  d'Holbach's  collection  of  music ;  after 
having  examined  pieces  of  many  different  kinds,  he  said  to 
me,  showing  me  a  lot  for  the  harpsichord,  "There  are  a  num- 
ber of  pieces  that  were  composed  for  me  ;  they  are  full  of  taste 
and  of  excellent  execution  ;  nobody  knows  of  them,  nor 
will  any  eye  ever  see  them  except  my  own.  You  ought  to 
pick  out  a  few  and  put  them  into  your  divertissement." 
Having  a  great  many  more  subjects  for  airs  and  sympho- 
nies in  my  head  than  I  could  make  use  of,  I  cared  very 
little  for  his.  However  he  pressed  me  so  much  that,  out 
of  complaisance,  I  chose  a  pastoral  which  I  abridged  and 
converted  into  a  trio  for  the  entry  of  Colette's  companions. 
Some  months  afterwards,  and  whilst  the  performance  of 
the  Devin  still  continued,  on  going  into  Grimm's,  I  found 
quite  a  large  company  around  his  harpsichord ;  he  hastily 
rose  on  my  arrival.  Glancing  mechanically  at  the  music 
stand,  I  saw  that  same  collection  of  Baron  d'Holbach's, 
open  at  precisely  the  piece  he  had  pressed  me  to  take,  as- 
suring me  at  the  same  time  that  it  should  never  go 
out  of  his  hands.  Some  time  afterwards  I  again  saw  the 
same  collection  open  on  M.  d'Epiuay's  harpsichord,  one  day 
when  he  had  a  little  concert  at  his  house.  Neither  Grimm 
nor  anybody  else  ever  made  any  allusion  to  this  air,  and  my 
only  reason  for  mentioning  it  here  is  because  some  time 
after,  it  was  rumored  that  I  was  not  the  author  of  the 
Devin  du  Village.  As  I  never  was  much  of  a  croque-note, 
I  am  persuaded  that,  were  it  not  for  my  Musical  Dictionary, 
they  would  at  last  have  had  it  that  I  did  not  understand 
music. 

Some  time  before  the  representation  of  the  Devin  du 
Village,  a  company  of  Italian  buffos  came  to  Paris.  The 
directors  of  the  Opera,  not  foreseeing  the  effect  they  were 
to  produce,  gave  them  an  engagement.  Though  they  were 
detestable,  and  the  orchestra,  then  ignorant  in  the  extreme, 
completely  mutilated  the  pieces,  yet,  for  all  that,  they  struck 
French  Opera  a  blow  from  which  it  never  recovered.     The 


120  Rousseau's  confessions. 

comparison  of  these  two  musics,  heard  the  same  day,^  in 
the  same  theatre,  opened  the  ears  of  the  French  pubHc  ; 
there  v/as  no  enduring  the  slow,  dragging  length  of  their 
music  after  hearing  the  marked  and  lively  Italian  accent;  and 
just  as  soon  as  the  buffos  had  finished,  everybody  went  away, 
so  that  the  managers  had  to  reverse  the  order,  putting  the 
performance  of  the  buffos  last.  Egle,  Pygmalion,  and  Le 
Sylphe  were  successively  produced  ;  nothing  could  approach 
them  :  the  Devin  du  Village  alone  stood  the  comparison, 
and  was  still  relished  after  La  Serva  Padrona.  Whilst  com- 
posing my  interlude,  my  head  was  full  of  these  pieces, — 
and  they  suggested  the  idea  of  it  in  fact ;  but  I  was  far 
from  suspecting  that  they  would  one  day  be  collated  with 
my  composition.  Had  I  been  a  plagiarist,  how  many  thefts 
would  then  have  been  made  manifest,  and  how  solicitous 
would  my  critics  have  been,  that  the  whole  scope  thereof 
should  be  felt  1  But  no  ; — in  vain  they  attempted  to  dis- 
cover in  my  music  the  faintest  reminiscence  of  anything 
else  ;  and  the  various  songs  of  my  Opera,  compared  with 
the  pretended  originals  were  found  as  new  as  the  style  of 
music  I  had  created.  Had  they  put  Mondonville  or  Rameau 
to  the  same  ordeal,  I  warrant  they  would  not  have  escaped 
unscathed. 

The  buffos  made  Italian  music  a  band  of  warm  parti- 
sans. All  Paris  was  divided  into  two  parties,  each  more 
violent  for  its  side  than  though  a  matter  of  politics  or  reli- 
gion had  been  at  stake.  The  one,  the  more  powerful,  the 
more  numerous,  composed  of  the  great,  the  rich  and  the 
women,  upheld  the  French  music  ;  the  other,  the  livelier, 
prouder,  more  enthusiastic,  was  made  up  of  true  connoiseurs, 
of  men  of  talent  and  genius.  This  little  group  assembled 
under  the  queen's  box.  The  other  party  filled  up  all  the 
rest  of  the  parterre,  etc.  ;  but  its  chief  focus  was  under 
the  king's  box.  Hence  originated  the  then  celebrated 
party-names  of  coin  du  roi  and  coin\  de  la  reine, — '  king's 
corner'  and  '  queen's  corner.'  As  the  dispute  warmed,  it 
gave  rise  to  pamphlets.  The  '  king's  corner'  made  an  at- 
tempt in  the  bantering  vein, — they  got  ridiculed  high  and 
low  in  the  Petit  Prophete ;  they  undertook  to  reason  it 
out, — the  Letter  on  French  Music  completely  demolished 
them.      These  two  little  productions,  the  one   by  Grimm 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  VIII.       1753.  121 

and  the  other  by  myself,  are  the  only  ones  that  have  out- 
lived the  quarrel ;  the  others  are  all  of  them  long  since  at 
rest. 

But  the  Petit  Pro-pheie  which,  spite  of  all  I  could  say, 
the  public  long  persisted  in  attributing  to  me,  was  taken  as 
a  joke,  and  never  gave  its  author  the  least  trouble;  whereas 
the  Letter  on  Music  was  viewed  seriously,  and  raised  the 
whole  nation  against  me — they  thought  themselves  aimed 
at  in  this  attack  on  their  music.  A  description  of 
the  incredible  effect  produced  by  this  pamphlet  would  be 
worthy  the  pen  of  Tacitus.  The  great  quarrel  between 
the  Church  and  State  was  then  in  full  blast.  The  parlia- 
ment had  just  been  exiled  ;  the  excitement  was  at  its 
height — everything  threatened  an  impending  revolution. 
The  pamphlet  appeared  ; — on  the  instant,  all  other  quar- 
rels were  forgotten, — the  only  thought  was  touching  the 
perilous  state  of  French  music,  and  the  only  insurrection 
xsiised  was  the  one  against  myself  This  was  so  general 
that  it  has  never  since  been  quite  quelled.  At  court,  the 
only  question  was  whether  I  should  be  sentenced  to  banish- 
ment or  the  Bastille,  and  the  lettre  de  cachet  was  on  the 
point  of  being  transmitted,  had  not  M.  de  Yoyer  set  forth 
the  ridiculosity  of  such  a  step.  Were  I  to  say  that  this 
pamphlet  was  probably  the  means  of  preventing  a  revolu- 
tion in  the  state,  my  readers  might  think  me  doting.  It 
is  a  fact,  however,  the  verity  whereof  universal  Paris  can 
attest,  seeing  that  it  is  but  fifteen  years  since  the  occurrence 
of  this  singular  affair. 

If  no  attempts  were  made  on  my  liberty,  they  were  not 
sparing  of  insults  at  least, — nay,  my  life  itself  was  in  danger. 
The  Opera-orchestra  humanely  resolved  to  murder  me  as  I 
was  going  out  of  the  theatre.  This  came  to  my  ears  :  the 
only  effect  it  had  was  to  make  me  more  assiduous  in  my  at- 
tendance at  the  Opera,  and  it  was  not  till  long  afterwards 
that  I  learned  that  M.  Aucelot,  an  officer  in  the  Mousque- 
tau'es,  and  a  warm  friend  of  mine,  thwarted  the  plot,  by  hav- 
ing me,  unknown  to  myself,  escorted  home  at  the  close  of  the 
performance.  The  direction  of  the  Opera  had  just  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  the  city  authorities.  The  first  exploit  of  the 
mayor  was  to  deprive  me  of  my  right  of  admission,  and  that 
in  the  most  brutal  manner  possible,  namelv,  by  publicly  re- 
II.  '  6 


122  Rousseau's  confessions. 

fusing  me  admission  while  passing  in  ;  so  that  I  was  obliged 
to  go  and  buy  a  ticket  to  the  amphitheatre,  not  to  be  put  to 
the  affront  of  haying  to  go  away  without  getting  in.  This 
piece  of  injustice  was  all  the  more  flagrant,  as  the  only  price 
I  had  put  on  my  piece,  when  ceding  it  to  the  managers,  was  the 
perpetual  freedom  of  the  house  ;  for,  albeit  this  was  a  right  due 
every  author,  and  I  had  a  double  claim  thereto,  I  had  expressly 
stipulated  for  it  in  presence  of  M.  Duclos.  'Tis  true  they  had 
sent  me,  through  the  treasurer  of  the  Opera,  a  remuneration  of 
fifty  louis  I  had  not  asked  for  ;  but  aside  from  the  fact 
that  these  fifty  louis  were  not  near  the  amount  that  ought,  ac- 
cording to  the  rules,  have  come  to  me,  this  payment  had  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  my  right  of  entrance,  formally  stipulat- 
ed, and  which  was  entirely  independent  of  it.  There  was  in 
the  course  they  pm-sued  such  a  complication  of  iniquity  and 
brutality  that  the  public,  then  in  the  height  of  its  anunosity 
towards  me,  was  universally  shocked  thereat,  and  many  per- 
sons that  had  insulted  me  the  evening  before,  exclaimed  next 
day  in  the  Opera  theatre  that  it  was  shameful  thus  to  deprive 
an  author  of  his  right  of  entry,  particularly  one  who  had  so 
well  deserved  it,  and  who  •  had  a  double  claun  thereto.  So 
true  is  the  Itahan  proverb,  that  ogn  hin  ama.  la  gmstizia  in 
casa  d'altrui.  (Every  one  loves  justice  in  the  affairs  of 
another.) 

Brought  to  this  pass,  the  only  thing  I  could  do  was  to 
demand  back  my  work,  seeing  that  they  had  broken  the 
agreement.  For  this  purpose,  I  wrote  to  M.  d'Argenson, 
who  had  the  Opera-department  in  his  hands,  and  I  added  an 
unanswerable  memorial  to  my  letter.  Both,  however,  were 
futile,  nor  did  I  even  get  a  reply  to  my  letter.  The  silence 
of  that  unjust  man  hurt  me  exceedingly,  and  did  not  tend  to 
increase  the  very  small  respect  I  had  for  his  character  and 
abiUties.  Thus  it  was  that  they  kept  my  piece,  and  deprived 
me  of  my  stipulated  reward.  Done  by  the  weak  on  the 
strong,  such  a  thing  would  be  a  crime  ;  done  by  the  strong 
on  the  weak,  it  is  simply  '  appropriating  another's  property.' 

As  regards  the  pecuniary  product  of  the  work,  though  it 
never  brought  me  a  quarter  of  what  it  would  have  brought 
anyl)ody  else,  yet  it  was  sufficient  to  support  me  for  several 
years  and  make  amends  for  the  ill-success  of  copying,^  which 
still  went  on  rather  slowly.     I  received  a  hundred  louis  from 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  VIII.       1753.  123 

the  king,   fifty  from   Madam  de   Pompadour  for  the   re- 
presentation at  Belle- Yue,  where  she  played  the  part  of  Colin 
herself,  fifty  from  the  Opera  people,  and  five  hundred  francs 
from  Pissotfor  the  right  of  pubhcation  ;  so  that  this  interlude, 
which  cost  me  but  five  or  six  weeks'  application,  brought  me, 
spite  of  my  misfortune  and  my  blundering,  almost  as  much 
money  as  my  Emik,  on  which  I  spent  twenty  years'  medita- 
tion and  three  years'  labor.     But  I  paid  dear  for  the  pecuni- 
ary ease  in  which  it  placed  me,  by  the  endless  vexations  it 
brought  upon  me  :  it  became  the  germ  of  those  secret  jealou- 
sies that  did  not  come  to  Ught  till  long  afterwards.     Its  suc- 
cess achieved,  I  no  longer  observed  in  Grimm  or  Diderot,  or 
any  other,  hardly,  of  the  literati  with  whom  I  was  acquainted, 
that  cordiahty,  and  ft'ankuess,  and  pleasure  at  seeing  me  I 
was  wont  to  notice.     The  moment  I  made  my  appearance  at 
the  Baron's,  the  conversation  ceased  to  be  general ;  the  com- 
pany would  group  together  into  httle  knots,  and  whisper 
into  each  other's  ears,  whilst  I  remained  alone,  not  knowing 
whom  to  address.     I  put  up  with  this  mortifying  neglect  for 
a  long  time,  and  seeing  that  the  sweet  and  amiable  Madam 
d'Holbach  still  received  me  kindly,  I  bore  with  the  gross 
vulgarity  of  her  husband  as  long  as  it  was  endurable  ;  but 
one  day  he  burst  out  on  me,  without  a  reason  or  a  shadow  of 
one,  with  such  brutality  (and  that  in  the  presence  of  both  Diderot 
and  Margency,  the  former  of  whom  said  not  a  word,  and  the 
latter  of  whom  has  often  told  me  since  how  much  he  admired 
the  mildness  and  moderation  of  my  rephes),  that,  driven  at 
length  from  his  house  by  his  shameful  treatment,  I  took  my 
leave,  determined  never  to  enter  his  door  again.     This  did 
not,  however,  prevent  me  from  still  speaking  honorably  of 
him  and  his  ;  whereas  he  could  never  express  himself  about 
me  but  in  the  most  outrageous  and  despiteful  terms,  never 
calling  me  other  than  '  that  little  pedant' — {ce  petit  cuistre), 
and  all  this,  too,  without  his  being  able  to  allege  the  slight- 
est harm  of  any  kind  I  ever  did  him  or  anybody  he  was  in- 
terested in.    'Twas  thus  he  ended  by  verifying  my  predictions 
and  my  fears  !     For  myself,  I  dare  say  my  pretended  friends 
would  have  pardoned  me  for  writing  books,  and  excellent 
ones,  too,  seeing  that  this  honor  they  also  shared  ;  but  they 
could  not  forgive  me  for  composing  an  Opera,  and  were  un- 
able to  pass  by    the  brilliant  success  it  achieved,  because 


124  Rousseau's  confessions. 

there  was  not  one  of  them  fitted  to  run  the  same  career,  nor 
one  that  could  aspii-e  to  the  same  honor.  Duclos  alone  su- 
perior to  this  jealousy,  seemed  to  become  even  more  attached 
to  me  and  introduced  me  to  Mile.  Quinault,  where  I  met 
with  as  much  attention,  kindness  and  cordiaUty  as  I  had  re- 
ceived of  the  opposite  at  M.  d'Holbach's. 

Whilst  they  were  playing  the  Devin  du  Viiiage  at  the 
Opera  there  was  also  question  of  its  author  at  the  Comedie 
Francaise,  though  a  little  less  happily.     Not  having  been 
able  these  seven  or  eight  years,  to  get  my  Narasse  per- 
formed at   the  lialiejis,  I  had  grown  disgusted  with  the 
miserable  playing  of  the  actors  in  French,  and  I  shoiM 
have  been  very  glad  to  have  had  my  piece  played  at  the 
Thoatre  Franuds  rather  than  by  them.     I  mentioned  this 
desire  to  La  None,  the  Comedian,  with  whom  I   bad  got 
acquainted,  and  who,  as  is  well  known,  was  a  worthy  man 
and  an  author.     Nardsse  pleased  him  and  he  undertook  to 
get  it  performed  anonimously  :  meanwhile,  he  procured  me 
the  freedom  of  the  theatre,  which  gave  me  great  pleasure, 
for  I  always  preferred  the    Tlieatre  Francms  to  the  two 
others      The  piece  was  favorably  received,  and  was  per- 
formed  without    the   author's   name    being   mentioned  •* 
thouo-h  I  had  reason  to  believe  that  it  was  not  unknown 
to  the   actors  and  a  good  many  others,  besides.     Miles. 
Gaussin   and  Grandval  played  the  lover's  parts  ;  and  al- 
thouo-h   in  my  thought,  the  piece  was  not  at  all  understood, 
still  "you  could  not  say  that  it  was  absolutely  lU-played. 
As  it  was  I  was  touched  at  the  indulgence  ot  the  public 
that  had  the  patience  quietly  to  listen  to  it  from  beginmng 
to  end  and  even  suffered  a  second  representation,  without 
manifesting  the  least  sign  of  impatience.     For  my  part   i 
was  so  wearied  with  the  first,  that  I  could  not  hold  oat  till 
the  end  ;  so,  leaving  the   theatre,  I  went  mto   the  caje  de 
Procope,   where  I  found  Boissy  and  several  other  of  my 
acquaintances,  who  had,  most  likely  been  as  morta  ly  bored  as 
myself      Here  I  boldly  confessed  my  pcccavi,  humbly,  or 
hauo-htily  avowing   myself  the   author   of   the   piece,    and 
speakin-  of  it  in  accordance  with  the  general  judgment 
This  public  avowal,  by  an  author,  of  a  piece  that  had  jast 
been  damned  was  hugely  admired,  and  cost  me  very  little 
"December  18,  1752 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  VIII.       1*153.  125 

indeed.  Nay,  my  self-love  was  even  flattered  thereby,  from 
the  courage  with  which  I  made  it  ;  and  I  am  of  opinion 
that,  on  this  occasion,  there  was  more  pride  in  speakins? 
than  there  would  have  been  foolish  shame  in  being-  silent. 
However,  as  it  was  certain  that  the  piece,  though  it  had 
fallen  dead  on  its  representation,  would  bear  reading,  I 
printed  it  ;  and  in  the  preface,  which  is  one  of  my  good 
things,  I  began  divulging  my  principles  somewhat  more  fully 
than  I  had  hitherto  done. 

I  had  soon  an  opportunity,  indeed,  of  developing  them 
completely,  in  a  work  of  greater  importance  ;  for  it  was,  I 
think,  in  that  year  1753,  that  the  programme  of  the 
Academy  of  Dijon  on  the  '  Origin  of  Inequality  among  Men  ' 
appeared.  Struck  by  this  great  question  I  was  surprised  that 
the  Academy  had  dared  to  propose  it  ;  but  since  it  had  had 
the  courage,  I  might  very  well  venture  to  treat  it, — so  I  tried. 

For  the  purpose  of  meditating  this  great  subject  at  my 
ease,  I  made  a  journey  of  seven  or  eight  days  to  Saint 
Germain,  with  Therese,  our  hostess,  a  good  woman,  and  one 
of  her  friends.  I  look  on  this  little  jaunt  as  one  of  the 
most  agreeable  in  my  life.  The  weather  was  very  fine  ; 
these  good  women  took  on  themselves  all  the  cares  and  ex- 
penses. Therese  amused  herself  along  with  them  ;  whilst 
I,  unburdened  by  care  of  any  kind,  joined  them  in  unre- 
strained glee  at  meal-hours.  A;tl  the  rest  of  the  day,  deep 
buried  in  the  forest,  I  sought  and  found  the  image  of  the 
primeval  times,  and  proudly  I  traced  their  history.  I  sent 
the  pitiful  lies  of  men  a-whistling  down  the  wind  ;  dared 
to  strip  human  nature  naked,  following  the  course  of  time 
and  the  series  of  events  that  have  disfigured  it,  comparing 
man's  man  with  the  man  of  nature  and  revealing  to  him  in 
his  pretended  perfection  the  very  root  of  all  his  miseries. 
My  soul,  enwrapt  by  these  sublime  contemplations,  rose  to 
the  height  of  Divinity  ;  and  beholding  thence  my  fellow 
creatures  following  the  blind  path  of  their  prejudices,  and 
thus  led  into  errors,  misfortunes  and  crimes,  I  cried  out  to 
them,  in  a  feeble  voice  they  could  not  hear  :  "Mad  men,  eter- 
nally whimpering  at  nature,  learn  ye  that  all  your  woes 
spring  from  yourselves  1" 

From  these  meditations  resulted  the  Disamrs  sur  Plne- 
galite  (Dissertation  on  the  Origin  of  Inequality  among  Men), 


126  Rousseau's  confessions. 

a  work  that  pleased  Diderot  better  than  all  my  other  writ- 
ings, and  in  the  composition  of  which  his  advice  was  of  the 
greatest  service  to  me,  *  but  wliich  found  but  very  few  rea- 
ders in  Europe  that  understood  it,  while  none  of  the  few 
that  did  understand  it  dared  speak  of  it.  It  had  been  com- 
posed with  the  view  to  its  running  for  the  prize,  so  I  sent  it ; 
though  I  was  very  sure,  to  begin  with,  that  it  would  not  get 
it,  and  knew  perfectly  well  that  it  is  not  for  pieces  of  that 
sort  that  academic  prizes  are  founded.  /  A     \'  ^ 

This  excursion  and  the  manner  in  which  I  was  employed  j^^-t^ 
greatly  improved  me  both  in  health  and  spu-its.  Tormented  •  '  ' 
by  my  retention  of  urine,  I  had  for  several  years  given  my- 
self quite  over  to  the  hands  of  the  doctors,  who,  without  al- 
leviating my  sufferings,  exhausted  my  strength  and  destroyed 
my  constitution.  On  my  return  from  Saint  Germain,  I  found 
that  I  had  gained  m  strength  and  that  my  general  health  was 
greatly  improved.  I  followed  up  this  hint,  and  determined 
to  cure  myself  or  die  unaided  by  physicians  or  physic.  Ac- 
cordingly, I  bade  them  an  eternal  farewell  and  hved  on  from 
day  to  day,  keeping  close  when  I  could  not  do  better,  and 
going  out  whenever  I  had  strength  enough.  The  course  of 
things  in  Paris  among  a  set  of  pretentious  people  was  so  lit- 
tle to  my  taste, — the  cabals  of  the  Uterary  tribe,  then'  shame- 
fiil  quarrels,  the  exceeding  httle  good  faith  I  found  in  theu* 
books,  their  pompous  air  in  society,  were  so  odious,  so  anti- 
pathetical to  me — I  found  so  httle  kindness,  so  little  open- 
ness of  heart,  so  little  frankness  in  the  intercourse  of  my 
friends  even,  that,  sick  of  this  tumultuous  Mfe,  I  began  long- 
ingly to  sigh  for  the  country  ;  and  not  seeing  as  my  occupa- 
tion would  allow  me  to  go  and  reside  there,  I  went,  any  way, 

*  At  the  time  I  wrote  this,  I  had  not  the  slighest  suspicion  of  the 
grand  conspiracy  of  Diderot  and  GrinDn  ;  -without  which  I  should  very 
readily  have  discovered  how  much  the  former  abused  my  confidence  to 
give  to  my  writings  that  harsh  tone  and  dark  aspect  that  no  longer 
characterized  them  after  he  had  ceased  to  direct  them.  The  passage 
about  the  philosopner  who,  while  argumenting,  stops  his  ears  against  the 
coiiijihiint  of  an  unfortunate  fellow  man,  is  l)y  him,  and  he  furnished  me 
with  others  that  were  still  stronger,  but  which  I  could  not  bring  myself 
to  make  use  of.  But,  attributing  tliis  dark  humor  to  the  bile  engendered  . 
in  the  donjon  of  Vincennes,  and  of  which  there  is  quite  a  strong  dose  in 
his  Clairval,  it  never  entered  my  head  to  suspect  anything  like  purposed 
nuilignity. 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VIII.     1754 — 1756.  127 

to  spend  the  few  spare  hours  I  had.  For  several  months,  I 
went  out  after  dinner  and  walked  alone  in  the  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne, meditating  on  subjects  for  futui'e  works,  and  not  re- 
turning till  night. 

(1754-1756).  GaufFecourt,  with  whom  I  was  then  ex- 
ceedingly intimate,  being  obliged  by  his  affairs  to  go  to  Gre- 
neva,  proposed  that  I,  too,  should  take  a  trip  thither.  I 
consented.  As  I  was  not  well  enough  to  do  without  the 
attentions  of  the  '  governess,'  it  was  decided  that  she  should 
go  along  with  us,  her  mother  meanwhile  keeping  house  for 
us  ;  so,  all  our  arrangements  being  made,  we  set  out,  the 
thi'ee  of  us,  on  the  first  of  June  1754. 

I  should  note  this  journey  as  the  period  of  the  first  ex- 
perience that,  up  till  forty-two — my  age  then- — ;put  any  dam- 
per on  my  naturally  unboundedly  confiding  disposition,  a  dis- 
position to  which  I  had  unreservedly  given  way,  nor  hither- 
to been  disappointed  in  doing  so.     AYe  went  in  a  private 
carriage,  traveling  very  slowly,  the  same  horses  drawing  us  all 
the  way  ;  so  that  I  often  got  out  and  walked.    Hardly  had  we 
gone  the  half  of  our  jom'ney  than  Therese  began  to  mani- 
fest the  utmost  possible  repugnance  to  staying  alone  in  the 
carriage  with  GaufFecourt.     When,  in  spite  of  her  entreaties, 
I  would  persist  in  getting  out,  she  would  get  out  and  walk 
also.     For   a  long  while  I  chid  her  for  this  caprice,  and 
finally  opposed  it  altogether,  so  that  she  was  at  last  forced 
to  tell  me  the  reason.     I  thought  I  was  in  a  dream,  I  seemed 
to  myself  as  though  falling  from  the  clouds,  on  learning  that 
my  friend  M.  de  Gauffecourt,  a  man  of  sixty  years  and  up- 
wards, gouty,  impotent,  and  completely  used  up  by  pleasui'e 
and  indulgence,  had,  ever  since  om*  departure,  been  laboring 
to  corrupt  a  person  no  longer  either  handsome  nor  young,  and 
belonging  to  his  friend  ;  and  that,  too,  by  the  basest,  most 
shameful  means,  even  to  offering  her  his  purse  and  attempting 
to  inflame  her  imagination  by  the  reading  of  an  abominable 
book  and  the  sight  of  the  infamous  pictures  in  which  it 
abounded.     The  next  time  he  tried  this,  Therese,  bursting 
with  indignation,  pitched  his  filthy  book  out  of  the  carriage- 
window  ;  and  I  learned  that,  on  the  first  evening  of  our  jour- 
ney, a  violent  headache  having  obliged  me  to  retire  to  bed 
before  supper,  he  had  employed  the  whole  time  they  were 
alone  together  m  attempts  and  manoeuvres  more  worthy  a 


128  Rousseau's  confessions. 

satyr  or  a  ram  than  a  man  of  decency  and  honor,  to  whom 
I  had  entrusted  my  companion  and  myself.  What  a  surprise 
for  me — what  a  lasceration  of  heart,  never  felt  before  1  I 
that  had  hitherto  conceived  friendship  inseparable  from  every 
noble  and  lovely  sentiment — which,  indeed,  constitute  all  its 
charm — ^now  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  found  myself  forced  to 
ally  it  with  contempt  and  to  withdraw  my  confidence  and 
esteem  from  a  man  I  loved,  and  by  whom  I  thought  myself 
beloved  1  The  wretch  concealed  his  turpitude  from  me. 
Not  to  expose  Therfese,  I  saw  myself  obliged  to  hide  my  con- 
tempt for  him,  and  house  in  my  heart  the  sentiments  he  must 
not  know.  Sweet  and  saintly  illusion  of  friendship,  Gaufife- 
court  first  raised  thy  veil  from  my  eyes  :  how  many  cruel 
hands  have  prevented  its  ever  falling  over  them  agam  ! 

At  Lyons  I  left  Gauffecourt  to'take  the  road  to  Savoy, 
being  unable  to  bring  myself  again  to  pass  so  near  Maman 
without  going  to  see  her.  I  did  see  her...  But  good  God, 
in  what  a  state — what  a  fall  was  there  !  What  was  there 
left  of  her  first  virtue  ?  Could  this  be  the  same  Madam  de 
Warens,  erst  so  brilliant,  to  whom  the  cure  of  Pontverre 
had  recommended  me  ?  Oh,  how  stricken  was  my  heart  1 
I  saw  no  other  help  for  her  but  to  leave  the  country. 
Earnestly  I  entreated  her,  as  I  had  done  before  in  various 
letters,  to  come  and  live  quietly  with  me  ;  and  I  and  The- 
rese  would  devote  our  days  to  making  her  happy.  But  in 
vain.  Clinging  to  her  pension,  of  which,  though  regularly 
paid,  she  had  for  a  long  time  received  nothing,  my  efforts 
were  lost  upon  her.  I  again  gave  her  a  small  part  of  my 
purse,  far  less  than  I  ought  to  have  given  her,  far  leas 
than  I  would  have  given  her,  had  I  not  been  perfectly  sure 
that  she  would  not  get  the  least  good  of  it.  During  my 
stay  at  Geneva,  she  made  a  journey  to  Chablais,  and 
came  to  see  me  at  Grange-Canal.  She  had  not  money  to 
finish  her  journey  :  I  had  not  enough  about  me,  and  so 
sent  it  to  her  by  Therese  an  hour  afterwards.  Poor  Ma- 
man! ^  Well  may  I  relate  this  new  instance  of  thy  tender 
affection.  A  small  diamond  ring  was  the  last  jewel  she 
had  left ;— she  took  it  oft"  her  finger  and  put  on  therese's, 
who  instantly  put  it  back  on  her's,  kissing  that  noble  hand 
and  bathing  it  with  her  tears.  Ah  !  then  was  the  time  to 
have   dischiirged  my  debt.     I  should  have  left  all  and   fol- 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  VIII.      1154 — 1156.  129 

lowed  lier,  sticking  to  her  till  the  last,  and  sharing  her 
fate,  come  what  might  !  But  no  ; — 1  did  nothing  !  Ab- 
sorbed in  another  attachment,  I  felt  the  tie  that  bound  me 
to  her  growing  weaker  and  weaker.  Despairing  of  being 
of  usQ  to  her,  1  became  discouraged,  and  my  purposes  did 
lose  the  name  of  action.  I  sighed  and  mourned  over  her, 
and — went  my  way.  Of  all  the  remorse  I  ever  felt  in  my 
life,  this  was  the  most  poignant  and  most  lasting.  Well 
did  I  deserve  the  terrible  chastisements  that  have  since 
been  rained  down  ou  me  :  may  they  have  expiated  my  in- 
gratitude !  But,  my  guilt  was  in  my  conduct,  not  in  my 
character — too  bitterly  has  my  heart  been  wrung  thereby 
for  that  heart  to  be  the  heart  of  an  ungrateful  man. 

Previous  to  my  departure  from  Paris,  I  had  made  a 
rough  sketch  of  the  dedication  of  my  Discours  sur  Vlnega- 
lite.*  I  finished  it  at  Chamberi,  and  dated  it  from  the 
same  plac-e,  judging  it  best,  in  order  to  avoid  all  cavil,  to 
date  it  neither  from  France  nor  Geneva.  Arrived  in  this 
city,  I  abandoned  myself  to  the  republican  enthusiasm  that 
had  brought  me  here.  This  enthusiasm  was  augmented 
by  the  reception  I  met  Avith.  Courted  and  caressed  by  all 
classes,  I  gave  myself  quite  up  to  my  patriotic  zeal  ;  and, 
mortified  at  being  excluded  from  my  citizenship  by  the 
profession  of  another  faith  than  that  of  my  fathers,  I  re- 
solved openly  to  return  thereto.  I  looked  on  the  Script- 
ures as  being  the  same  for  all  Christians,  the  only  difference 
in  religious  opinions  being  the  result  of  explanations  given 
by  men  to  things  beyond  the  sphere  of  their  comprehen- 
sion. I  judged  it  the  exclusive  right  of  the  sovereign  of  a 
country  to  fix  both  the  mode  of  worship  and  this  unintel- 
ligible dogma,  and  that  consequently  it  was  the  duty 
of  a  citizen  to  adopt  the  creed,  and  conform  to  the 
mode  of  worship  prescribed  by  law.  My  intercourse 
with  the  Encyclopaidists,  far  from  shaking  my  faith, 
had  strengthened  it,  by  my  natural  aversion  for  disputes 
and  party-spirit.  The  study  of  man  and  the  universe  had 
every  where  revealed  tome  the  existence  of  final  causes,  and 
the  wisdom  that  directs  them.  The  reading  of  the 
Scriptures,  and  especially  the  New  Testament,  to  which  I 
had,  for  several  years  past,  devoted  studious  attention,  had 

*  The  dedication  is  to  the  People  of  Geneva,     Tr. 

II.  6* 


130  Rousseau's  confessioxs. 

given  me  a  supreme  contempt  for  tlie  low  and  silly  interpre- 
tations given  to  the  words  of  Jesus  Christ  by  persons  the 
least  worthy  of  understanding  him.  In  a  word,  philosophy, 
while  it  drew  me  closer  to  the  essentials  of  religion,  had 
freed  me  from  the  trumpery  of  petty  formularies  wherewith 
men  have  overlaid  it.  Judging  that,  to  a  reasonable  man,  there 
could  be  no  such  thing  as  two  ways  of  being  a  Christian,  I  wa3 
also  of  opinion  that  everythmg  that  concerns  forms  and  disci- 
pUnes  should  be  subject  to  the  regulation  of  the  legislation  of 
each  country.  From  this  principle,  so  sensible,  so  social,  so 
pacific,  and  which  has  brought  upon  me  such  cruel  persecu- 
tions, it  followed  that,  if  I  wished  to  be  a  citizen  of  Geneva, 
I  must  become  a  Protestant,  and  retmm  to  the  mode  of  wor- 
ship estabUshed  in  my  country.  This  course  I  resolved  to 
pursue  ;  I  even  put  myself  under  the  instruction  of  the  pas- 
tor of  the  parish  in  which  I  lived,  and  which  was  without  the 
city.  All  I  desu-ed  was  not  to  he  obliged  to  appear  at  the 
consistory.  Yet  the  edict  of  the  chm'ch  was  expressly  to 
that  effect  ;  however,  they  agreed  to  depart  from  the  rule  in 
my  favor,  and  a  commission  of  some  five  or  six  members 
was  nominated  to  receive  my  confession  of  faith  privately. 
Unfortunately,  Parson  Perdriau,  a  mild,  amiable  man,  whom 
I  was  quite  attached  to,  took  it  into  his  head  to  say  to  me 
that  the  members  would  be  happy  to  hear  me  speak  in  the 
little  assembly.  This  idea  so  terrified  me  that,  after  spend- 
ing three  weeks,  day  and  night,  in  committing  to  memory  a 
little  speech  I  had  prepared,  I  became  so  confused  when  I 
came  to  deUver  it,  that  I  could  not  utter  a  single  word  ;  and 
I  behaved  during  the  whole  of  the  conference  like  the  stupid- 
est of  schoolboys.  The  deputies  spoke  for  me,  I  blockhead- 
like, answering  Yes  and  JVo.  I  was  then  admitted  to  the 
communion  and  reinstated  in  my  rights  of  citizenship.  I 
was  enrolled  as  such  in  the  list  of  guards,  open  to  none  but 
citizens  and  burghers,  and  attended  a  council-general  extra- 
ordiiuiry,  to  receive  the  oath  from  the  Syndic  Mussard.  I 
was  so  touched  at  the  kindness  sho\\ni  me  on  this  occasion  by 
the  council  and  consistory,  and  so  affected  by  the  kind  and 
courteous  proceedings  of  all  the  magistrates,  ministers  and 
citizens,  that,  pressed  by  the  worthy  Deluc,  who  was  inces- 
sant in  his  persuasions,  and  still  more  powerfully  induced  by 
my  own  inclmation,  my  only  thought  in  returning  to  Paris 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  VIII.      1754 — 1*156.  131 

was  to  break  up  house-keeping,  put  my  little  affairs  in  order, 
find  a  situation  for  Madam  Le  Yassem-  and  her  husband, 
or  provide  for  their  sub.sistence,  and  then  retm'n  with 
Theresa  to  Geneva,  there  to  settle  down  for  the  rest  of  my 
days. 

.  This  resolve  taken,  I  made  a  truce  to  all  serious  mat- 
ters and  amused  myself  with  my  friends  until  the  time  of 
my  departure.  Of  all  these  amusements  the  one  that 
pleased  me  best  was  a  sail  around  the  lake  in  company 
with  Deluc  Sen.,  his  daughter-in-law,  two  sons,  and  my 
Tiierese.  We  spent  seven  days  of  the  finest  weather 
imaginable  in  this  excursion.  I  preserved  a  most  vivid 
remembrance  of  the  spots  around  it  that  struck  me,  and 
described  them  several  years  afterwards  in  the  Nouvdle 
Heloise. 

The  chief  attachments  I  formed  at  Geneva,  besides 
the  Delucs,  of  whom  I  have  spoken,  were  Yernes,  the 
young  minister,  whom  I  had  known  at  Paris,  and  of  whom 
I  augured  better  than  was  afterwards  realized  ;  M. 
Perdriau,  then  a  country  pastor,  at  present  professor  of 
Belles-lettres,  whose  mild  and  agreeable  intercourse  I  shall 
ever  regret  having  lost,  though  he  has  thought  fit  to  follow 
the  general  current  and  drop  my  acquaintance  ;  M.  Jalabert, 
then  professor  of  Natural  Philosophy,  and  afterwards  a 
counsellor  and  syndic,  to  whom  I  read  my  Discours  sur 
I'Inegahfe,  though  not  the  dedication,  and  who  appeared 
transported  therewith  ;  Professor  Lullin,  with  whom  I 
maintained  a  correspondence  until  his  death,  and  who  had 
even  commissioned  me  to  purchase  books  for  the  library  ; 
Professor  Yernet,  who,  like  the  rest  of  them,  turned  his 
back  on  me  after  I  had  given  him  proofs  of  attachment 
and  confidence  that  might  well  have  touched  him,  if  a 
theologian  was  to  be  touched  by  anything  ;  Chapins,  a 
clerk  and  successor  to  Gauffecourt,  whom  he  wished  to 
supplant,  and  who  was  ere  long  supplanted  himself ;  Marcet 
de  Mezieres,  an  old  friend  of  my  father's,  and  my  friend, 
too,  as  he  showed  himself,  but  who  after  deserving  well  of 
his  country,  turned  dramatic  author,  and,  aspiring  to  elec- 
tion to  the  Two  Hundred,  changed  his  principles,  and  made 
a  fool  of  himself  before  his  death.  But  the  man  of  whom 
I  expected  most  was  Moultou,  a  young  man  whose  talents 


132  Rousseau's  confessions. 

aud  enthusiasm  promised  him  a  lofty  future.  I  always 
loved  him,  though  his  conduct  towards  me  has  often  beeu 
equivocal,  aud  notwithstanding  that  he  is  connected  with 
my  most  bitter  enemies  ;  after  all,  though,  I  cannot  help 
regarding  him  as  destined  one  day  to  become  the  defender 
of  my  memory,  aud  the  avenger  of  his  friend. 

Amid  these  various  diversions,  I  did  not,  however,  lose 
either  my  taste  for  walking  out  alone  or  the  habit  of  doing 
so,  and  I  took  many  quite  extended  strolls  along  the  banks 
of  the  lake.  During  these,  my  head,  now  grown  accus- 
tomed to  activity,  was  not  idle.  I  developed  the  plan  I 
had  already  formed  of  my  Political  Institutions,  whereof  I 
shall  soon  have  occasion  to  speak  ;  I  meditated  a  History 
of  LeValais,  also  a  plan  of  a  prose  tragedy,  the  subject  of 
which,  (nothing  less  than  Lucrdia,)  did  not  make  me  des- 
pair of  demolishing  the  laughers,  if  I  should  allow  the  un- 
fortunate creature  to  appear  after  she  had  become  unendur- 
able on  the  boards  of  any  French  theatre.  I  tried  ray 
hand  at  the  same  time  on  Tacitus,  and  translated  the  first 
book  of  his  History,  which  will  be  found  among  my  papers. 

After  four  months'  stay  at  Geneva,  I  returned  to  Paris 
in  the  month  of  October,  avoiding  passing  through  Lyons, 
so  as  not  to  have  to  travel  in  company  with  GaufiFecourt. 
Having  made  arrangements  not  to  return  to  Geneva  till 
next  spring,  I  resumed  my  habits  and  occupations  during  the 
winter,  my  chief  engagements  being  looking  over  the  proofs 
of  my  Discours  sur  L^Inegalite,  which  I  wa&  getting  printed 
in  Holland  by  the  publisher  Rey,  with  whom  I  had  re- 
cently got  acquainted  at  Geneva.  As  this  work  was  dedi- 
cated to  the  Republic,  and  as  there  was  a  possibility  that 
the  dedication  might  not  please  the  Council,  I  wanted  to 
wait  and  see  what  effect  it  would  produce  at  Geneva  before 
returning  thither.  This  effect  was  not  favorable  to  me, 
and  this  dedication,  which  the  jjurest  patriotism  had  dictated, 
did  but  make  me  enemies  in  the  Council,  and  excite 
jealousy  in  the  lourgeoisie.  M.  Chouet,  then  first  Syndic, 
wrote  me  a  polite  but  very  cold  letter,  which  will  be  found 
among  my  collections,  file  A,  No.  3.  From  private  per- 
sons, and  among  others  from  Deluc  and  Jalabert,  I  re- 
ceived a  few  compliments  ;  and  that  was  all.  I  did  not 
see  as  a  single  Geuevese  felt  grateful  to  me  for  the  heart- 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VIII.     1154 — 1756.  133 

zeal  perceptible  throughout  this  work.  This  indifference 
scandalized  everybody  that  observed  it.  I  recollect  when 
dining  one  day  at  Clichy,  at  Madam  Dupin's,  along  with 
Crommeliu,  President  of  the  Republic,  and  with  M.  de 
Mairan,  the  latter  declared  before  the  whole  table,  that 
the  Council  owed  me  a  present  and  public  honors  for  the 
work,  and  would  dishonor  itself,  did  it  not  tender  them  me. 
Crommelm,  a  black  little  fellow,  basely  malignant,  did  not 
dare  reply  in  my  presence,  but  he  screwed  his  face  into  a 
frightful  grimace,  that  forced  a  smile  from  Madam  Dupin. 
The  sole  advantage  this  work  procured  me,  aside  from 
the  pleasure  of  having  satisfied  my  heart,  was  the  title  of 
'  citizen,'  at  first  given  me  by  my  friends,  afterwards  by  the 
public,  following  their  e.xample,  and  which  I  subsequently 
lost  only  for  having  too  well  deserved  it. 

This  ill  success  w^ould  not  have  prevented  me  from 
carrying  out  my  plan  of  retiriag  to  Geneva,  had  not  motives 
more  powerful  o'er  my  heart  seconded  it.  M.  d'Epinay, 
wishing  to  add  a  wing  that  was  wanting  to  the  chateau  de 
La  Chevrette,  was  at  that  time  spending  an  immense  deal 
of  money  in  completing  it.  Having  gone  one  day  along 
with  Madam  d'Epinay  to  see  the  work  going  on,  we  con- 
tinued our  walk  a  quarter  of  a  league  farther  to  the  park 
reservoir  which  bordered  the  forest  of  Montmorency. 
Here  there  was  a  pretty  kitchen-garden  with  a  small  lodge 
much  out  of  repair,  which  they  called  the  Herinitage. 
This  lonely,  but  very  agreeable  place  had  struck  me  the 
first  time  I  saw  it  previous  to  my  journey  to  Geneva.  In 
my  transport  an  exclamation  something  like  this  escaped  my 
lips,  '  Ah  !  Madam,  what  a  delightful  habitation — here  is  an 
asylum  made  on  purpose  for  me.'  Madam  d'Epinay  seemed 
to  pay  no  particular  notice  to  this  speech  ;  but  on  this 
second  journey,  I  was  quite  surprised  to  find,  in  place  of 
the  old  dilapidated  building,  a  very  nicely  arranged  little 
house,  almost  new  and  just  the  thing  for  a  small  family  of 
three.  Madam  d'Epinay,  had  had  this  work  done  without 
saying  anything  abont  it,  and  at  a  very  small  cost  by 
employing  some  of  the  materials  and  a  few  of  the  workmen 
from  the  chateau.  On  the  second  journey  she  said  to  me 
seeing  my  surprise,  "  Bear  of  mine,  there's  your  asylum  ; 
you  chose  it  yourself, — 'tis  an  offering  of  friendship  :  I  hope 


134  Rousseau's  confessions. 

it  will  do  away  with  your  painful  idea  of  leaving  me."  I 
do  not  know  as  I  was  ever  more  deeply,  more  deliciously 
affected  :  I  bathed  with  tears  the  kind  hand  of  my  friend  ; 
and  if  I  was  not  overcome  from  that  moment  forth,  my 
purpose  was  at  least  very  much  shaken.  Madam  d'Epinay. 
who  would  take  no  denial,  became  so  pressing,  employed 
so  many  means  and  so  many  persons  to  come  around  me,  going 
even  so  far  as  to  gain  over  Madam  Le  Yasseur  and  her 
daughter,  that  she  at  length  triumphed  over  my  resolutions. 
Renouncing  the  idea  of 'taking  up  my  residence  in  my  native 
country,  I  resolved  and  promised  to  dwell  in  the  Hermitage, 
and,  while  waiting  the  drying  of  the  building,  she  busied 
herself  in  getting  the  furniture,  so  that  everything  was  ready 
next  spring. 

One  thing  that  went  far  towards  determining  me  to 
this  course  was  the  fact  that  Yoltaire  had  taken  up  his  resi- 
dence near  Geneva.  I  clearly  foresaw  that  this  man 
would  make  a  revolution — that  I  should  return  to  my  own 
country  only  to  find  that  same  tone,  the  same  modes  and 
manners  that  drove  me  from  Paris  ;  that  I  should  be  forced 
to  keep  up  an  eternal  battle,  and  should  have,  in  my  con- 
duct to  choose  between  being  an  insufferable  pedant  or  a 
base  and  bad  citizen. 

The  letter  Yoltaire  wrote  me  on  the  appearance  of  my 
last  work  induced  me  to  insinuate  my  fears  in  my  answer  : 
the  effect  it  produced  confirmed  them.  Thenceforth  I  held 
Geneva  as  lost  ;  and  I  was  not  mistaken.  I  should,  it  may 
be,  have  gone  and  stemmed  the  current,  had  I  felt  I  had  a 
turn  for  that  sort  of  thing.  But  what  could  I  have  done 
alone,  with  my  timidity  and  stumbling  speech  against  an 
arrogant,  opulent  man,  supported  by  the  credit  of  the 
rich  ;  brilliant  and  ready,  and  the  idol  of  all  the  women 
and  young  men  ?  I  was  afraid  of  uselessly  exposing  my 
courage  to  danger  and  gave  ear  to  nothing  but  my  peace- 
ful temper  and  my  love  of  quiet,  which,  if  it  led  me  astray, 
does  so  still  on  the  same  head.  Had  I  returned  to  Geneva,  I 
might  have  spared  myself  great  misfortunes  ;  but  I  doubt 
whether  with  all  my  ardent  and  patriotic  zeal,  I  should 
have  heen  able  to  effect  anything  great  and  useful  for  my 
country. 

Tronchin,  who   had   about  the   same  time  settled   at 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  VIII.     1154 — 1756.  135 

Geneva,  came  some  time  afterwards  to  Paris  where  he  play- 
ed the  quack  and  whence  he  carried  off  an  immense  fortune. 
On  his  arrival  he  came  to  see  me  along  with  the  Chevalier 
Jaucourt.  Madam  d'Epinay  had  a  strong- desire  to  consult 
him  in  private,  but  the  press  was  not  easy  to  pierce.  She 
had  recourse  to  me,  so  I  got  Trouchiu  to  go  and  see  her. 
They  thus  began,  under  my  auspices,  a  connection  they 
afterwards  cultivated  at  my  expense.  Such  has  always 
been  my  fate  :  no  sooner  could  I  bring  together  two  friends 
I  had  separately,  than  they  would  unite  against  me. 
Though,  in  view  of  the  plot  the  Tronchins  were  then  form- 
ing to  enthrall  their  country,  they  must  all  have  hated  me 
with  a  mortal  hatred,  yet  the  doctor  long  continued  to  show 
me  kindness.  He  even  wrote  to  ine  after  his  return  to 
Geneva,  proposing  to  me  the  place  of  honorary  librarian. 
But  the  die  was  cast,  so  this  offer  in  no  wise  shook  my 
determination. 

About  this  same  time  I  again  began  to  visit  at  M. 
d'Holbach's.  The  occasion  of  my  doing  so  was  the  death 
of  his  wife  which,  as  also  the  death  of  Madam  Fraucueil, 
had  happened  while  I  was  at  Geneva.  Diderot,  when 
communicating  to  me  the  melancholy  event,  spoke  of  the 
husband's  profound  affection.  His  grief  moved  my  heart. 
I  myself  deeply  mourned  the  loss  of  that  amiable  woman, 
and  wrote  M.  d'Holbach  a  letter  of  condolence.  This  sad 
occurrence  made  me  forget  all  the  wrongs  he  had  done  me  ; 
and  when  I  returned  from  Geneva,  and  he  had  himself  got 
back  from  a  tour  he  had  been  making  in  France  in  company 
with  Grimm  and  other  friends  to  forget  his  sorrows,  I  went 
to  see  him  and  continued  my  visits  till  my  departure  for 
the  Hermitage.  When  it  became  known  in  this  coterie 
that  Madam  d'Epinay,  with  whom  he  was  not  as  yet  on 
visiting  terms,  was  preparing  me  a  habitation,  they  poured 
down  their  sarcasms  on  me  like  hail,  sarcasms  which  they 
founded  on  the  supposition  of  my  requiring  the  incense  and 
amusements  of  the  city.  They  averred  I  would  not  be  able 
to  bear  the  solitude  for  a  fortnight  itself.  Feeling  within 
me  what  this  solitude  was,  I  let  them  say  their  say,  and 
quietly  pursued  my  own  course.  Meanwhile,  M.  d'Hol- 
bach was  of  service  to  me  by  finding  a  place  for  the  old  man 
Le  Vasseur,  who  was    over  eighty  years   of  age   and   of 


136  Rousseau's  confessions 

whom  his  wife,  who  felt  him  a  burden,  was  coustantly  beg- 
ging me  to  rid  her.  He  was  put  into  a  charity  hospital, 
where  age  and  grief  at  being  separated  from  his  family, 
sent  him  to  the  grave  almost  as  soon  as  he  was  put  in. 
His  wife  and  his  other  children  felt  his  loss  very  little  : 
but  Therese,  who  loved  him  tenderly,  has  been  inconsolable 
ever  since,  and  has  never  been  able  to  forgive  herself  for 
having  suffered  him  to  be  sent  away  in  his  old  age  to  end 
his  days  among  strangers. 

Much  about  the  same  time  I  had  a  visit  I  little  expect- 
ed, though  it  was  from  a  very  old  acquaintance.  I  refer  to 
my  friend  Venture,  who  came  in  on  me  one  fine  morning, 
when  he  was  the  last  person  in  my  thoughts.  There  was 
another  man  with  him.  How  changed  did  he  seem  to  me  ! 
In  place  of  his  former  graceful  ways  he  now  looked  like  a 
mere  sot,  and  I  could  not  find  it  in  me  to  open  my  heart  to 
him.  Either  my  eyes  were  not  the  same  or  debauchery  had 
stupified  his  wits,  or  else  all  his  first  brilliancy  arose  from 
his  youthful  spirits,  which  he  had  now  lost.  I  felt  almost 
indifferent  on  seeing  him  and  we  separated  coldly  enough. 
But  when  he  was  gone,  the  remembrance  of  our  old 
acquaintance  brought  back  in  such  vivid  colors  the  memory 
of  my  young  years,  devoted  so  wisely  and  so  well  to  that 
angelic  woman,  now  all  but  as  much  changed  as  he  ;  the 
little  anecdotes  of  that  happy  period,  the  romantic  day  at 
Toune,  passed  with  so  much  innocence  and  delight  between 
those  two  charming  girls,  whose  only  favor  was  a  kiss  of  the 
hand,  and  which,  for  all  that,  had  left  me  regrets  so  deep, 
so  affecting,  so  lasting — all  the  ravishing  delirium  of  a 
young  heart  which  I  had  then  felt  rushing  over  me  in  full 
force  (I  had  thought  the  time  for  this  gone  by  for  everl)  — 
these  tender  recollections,  made  me  shed  tears  over  my 
vanished  youth  and  its  transports  fled,  never  more  to 
return. 

Before  leaving  Paris,  during  the  winter  previous  to  my 
removal,  I  enjoyed  a  pleasure  that  was  quite  to  my  heart, 
and  I  enjoyed  it  in  all  its  purity.  Palissot,  a  member  ol 
the  Academy  of  Nancy,  and  known  as  the  author  of  certain 
dramas,  had  just  had  a  piece  of  his  performed  at  Luneville 
before  the  king  of  Poland.  He  thought,  apparently,  to 
make  his  court  by  representing   in   this  drama  of    liis  a 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  A^II.     1*154 — 1156.  131 

man  *  that  had  dared  enter  the  lists  pen  in  hand  with  the  king 
himself.  Stanislas,  who  was  generous  and  did  not  hke  satire, 
was  indignant  at  the  author's  daring  to  be  personal  in  his 
presence.  The  Count  de  Tressan  wrote,  by  the  king's  order, 
to  d'Alembert  and  myself,  informing  us  that  it  was  his 
Majesty's  intention  that  Pahssot  should  be  expelled  his 
Academy.  My  answer  was  an  earnest  sohcitation  in  favor 
of  Palissot,  begging  M.  de  Tressan  to  intercede  with  the 
king  in  his  behalf.  His  pardon  was  granted,  and  M.  de 
Tressan  in  his  communication  informing  me  thereof  ua  the 
king's  name,  added  that  this  circumstance  should  be  inserted 
in  the  archives  of  the  Academy.  I  repUed  that  this  would 
rather  be  to  perpetuate  a  punishment  than  to  grant  a  pardon. 
At  length,  by  dint  of  entreaties  I  obtained  the  promise  that 
there  shoidd  be  no  mention  made  of  it  in  the  archives  and 
that  no  public  trace  of  the  affau-  should  remain.  This  cor- 
respondence was  accompanied,  as  well  on  the  part  of  the  king 
as  on  that  of  M.  de  Tressan,  by  proofs  of  esteem  and  respect 
that  were  very  flattering  to  me  ;  and  I  felt  on  this  occasion 
that  the  esteem  of  men  themselves  so  estimable  produces  a 
sentiment  infinitely  more  pleasmg  and  noble  than  any  thing 
vanity  can  give.  I  transcribed  into  my  collection  the  letters 
of  M.  de  Tressan,  with  my  answers  to  them,  and  the  originals 
wiU  be  found  in  file  A,  Nos.  9,  10  and  11. 

I  am  perfectly  sensible  that,  if  these  Memoirs  ever  come 
to  see  the  Mght,  I  am  myself  here  perpetuating  the  remem- 
brance of  a  circumstance  of  which  I  labored  to  efface  all 
trace.  True  ;  and  I  transmit  the  remembrance  of  many 
others.  The  grand  aim  of  my  undertaking,  present  ever  to 
my  eyes,  and  the  duty  unposed  on  me  of  executing  it  in  all  its 
scopes  will  not  allow  me  to  be  turned  aside  by  considerations 
of  less  moment  that  would  lead  me  from  my  purpose.  In 
the  strange  and  unparalleled  situation  in  which  I  am  placed, 
I  owe  too  much  to  truth  to  have  that  debt  o'ertopped  by 
obligations  to  any  mortal  man.  To  know  me  well  I  must 
be  knoMTi  in  all  my  relations,  good  or  bad.  My  Confessions 
are  necessarily  connected  with  revelations  touching  many 
other  people.  Regarding  circumstances  that  have  a  bearing 
on  my  life,  I  make  avowals  touching  myself  and  them  with 
equal  frankness  not  beheving  that  I  am  bound  to  spare  other 

Rousseau.     Tr. 


138  Rousseau's  confessions. 

people  any  more  than  I  do  myself,  though  it  is  my  earnest 
wish  to  do  so.  It  is  my  aim  to  be  ever  just  and  true,  to  say 
of  others  aU  the  good  I  can,  and  of  their  ill  deeds  to  speak 
only  of  such  as  concern  me,  and  then  no  farther  than  I  am 
forced  to.  Who,  considering  the  state  I  have  been  reduced 
to,  has  a  right  to  require  any  more  at  my  hands  ?  My  Con- 
fessions are  not  intended  to  appear  in  my  lifetune  nor  in  the 
lifetime  of  persons  interested.  Were  I  master  of  my  destiny 
and  had  I  control  over  the  present  record,  it  should  not  see 
the  light  till  long  after  both  I  and  they  should  be  in  the  land 
of  shadews.  But  the  efforts  to  obhterate  all  trace  of  the 
facts  as  they  were,  which  the  dread  of  the  truth  obliges  my 
powerful  aggressors  to  make,  render  it  necessary  for  me  to  do 
everything  the  strictest  right  and  severest  justice  allow  to 
preserve  the  memorials  thereof.  Were  my  memory  to  perish 
with  me,  rather  than  compromise  any  body,  I  would  suffer 
an  unjust  and  transient  opprobrium  without  a  murmer  ;  but 
smce  my  name  is  destined  to  live,  it  must  be  my  endeavor 
to  transmit  with  it  the  remembrance  of  the  unfortunate  man 
that  bore  it  such  as  he  really  was,  and  not  sucli  as  unjust 
enemies  are  ceaselessly  endeavoring  to  paint  him. 


BOOK  IX. 

1756. 

The  impatience  I  felt  to  get  into  the  Hermitage  would 
not  let  me  wait  till  the  return  of  spring  ;  so  just  as  soon  as 
the  place  was  ready,  I  hastened  to  go  out  and  take  up  my 
residence  therein,  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  Holbach 
coterie,  loud  in  their  predictions  that  I  would  not  be  able 
to  endure  three   months  of  solitude,  and  that  they  would 
soon   see  me  returning  from   my  unsuccessful   attempt,   to 
live  in  Paris  like  the  rest  of  them.     For  my  own  part,  see 
ing  myself  on  the  eve  of  returning  to  my  own  element,  out 
of  which  I  had  been  for  the  last  fifteen  years,  I  paid  no  at- 
tention to  their  pleasantries.     I  had  never — from  the  time 
when,  spite  of  myself,  I   had  entered,   the  great  world — 
ceased  regretting  my  dear  Charmettes,  and  the  delightful 
life  I  had  led  there.     I  felt  that  nature  had  made  me  for 
the  retirement  of  the  country  ;  indeed,  it  was  impossible  for 
me  to  live   happily  elsewhere.     At  Venice,    absorbed   in 
public  affairs,  amid  the  pride  of  projects  of  advancement 
and  the  dignity  of  a  kind  of  representation  ;  at  Paris,  in  the 
vortex  of  society,  amid  luxurious  suppers,  splendid  specta- 
cles and   the   incense   of  fame,    my  laoskey   bournes,    my 
streams  and  lonely  walks  would  come  back,  and,  by  their 
memory,   sadden   me,  plunge  me   into  reverie,   and  draw 
from  me  many  a  longing  sigh.    All  the  labor  I  had  brought 
myself  to  submit  to,  all  the  projects  of  ambition  that  by 
fits  had  spurred  me  on,  had  but  one  aim — to  bring  about 
the  realization  of  this  delightful  country-retirement  which 
I   now   flattered  myself  was   near  at  hand.      Though   I 
had   not  acquired  the  genteel  independence  which  I  had 
thought  was  the  sole  road  thereto,  it  seemed  to  me  that, 
considering  the  peculiar  situation   in  which  I  was   placed, 
I   might   do   without    it,    and    reach   the   same   end    by 
a  quite   different   road.     1  had  not  a  penny  in   the  way  of 


140  Rousseau's  confessions 

income,  but  I  had  a  name  and  I  had  talent  ;  besides,  I  was 
temperate  in  all  things,  and  had  got  rid  of  the  most  costly 
class  of  wants — those  of  fashion.  Then,  though  naturally 
indolent,  I  could  work,  too,  when  I  choose  to  ;  and  my  in- 
dolence was  not  so  much  that  of  an  idler  as  of  an  indepen- 
dent man,  fond  of  taking  his  own  hour  for  his  work.  My 
calling  of  a  music-copyist  was  neither  brilliant  nor  lucrative, 
but  it  was  certain.  The  world  gave  me  credit  for  the 
courage  I  had  shown  in  choosing  it.  I  might  depend  on 
having  work  enough,  and,  if  diligent,  it  might  furnish  me  a 
sufficient  support.  The  two  thousand  francs  that  I  had 
left  from  the  produce  of  the  Devin  du  Village  and  my 
other  writings  formed  a  little  store  that  would  keep  me 
from  being  straightened  ;  and  several  works  I  had  upon 
the  stocks  promised  me  sufficient  supplies  to  enable  me  to 
work  at  my  ease  without  having  to  screw  money  out  of  the 
booksellers,  while  even  the  leisure  of  my  walks  might  be 
turned  to  account.  My  little  family,  composed  of  three 
persons,  all  usefully  occupied,  did  not  require  much  to  sup- 
port it.  In  a  word,  my  means,  proportioned  to  my  wants 
and  desires,  reasonably  led  me  to  look  forward  to  a  long 
and  happy  life  in  the  lot  my  inclination  had  induced  me  to 
adopt. 

I  might  have  looked  at  the  matter  from  the  lucrative 
side,  and,  instead  of  lowering  my  pen  to  copying,  might 
have  devoted  it  to  writings  which,  considering  the  height 
to  which  I  had  risen,  and  at  which  I  felt  capable  of  sus- 
taining myself,  would  have  enabled  me  to  live  in  abun- 
dance, ay,  in  opulence,  had  1  but  been  willing  to  join 
autorial  manoeuvers  to  the  care  of  publishing  good  books. 
But  I  felt  that  making  bread  out  of  brains  would  inevita- 
bly blight  my  genius  and  stifle  my  talent  ;  for  my  power 
lay  less  in  my  pen  than  in  my  heart,  and  sprang  solely  from, 
and  could  only  be  nourished  by  a  certain  high,  proud  fashion 
I  had  of  thinking.  Nothing  vigorous,  nothiug  great  can 
ever  come  from  a  pen  wholly  venal.  Necessity — and  avarice, 
too,  might  have  had  something  to  do  with  it — would  have 
made  me  write  with  a  view  rather  to  quantity  than  quality. 
If  the  desire  of  success  would  not  have  led  me  into  intrigue, 
it  would  have  induced  me  to  seek  not  so  much  to  say  true 
and  useful  things  as  things  that  would  please  the  uuiltitude  ; 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  IX.      1756.  141 

and  instead  of  becoming  a  distinguished  author,  the  pos- 
sibility whereof  lay  before  me,  I  sliould  have  turned  out  a 
mere  'scribbler.  Xo,  no  ;  I  have  always  felt  that  author- 
ship is  and  can  be  honorable  and  illustrious  only  in  propor- 
tion as  it  is  not  made  a  trade  of. 

Too  hard  is  it  to  think  nobly,  when  living  is  the  sole 
aim  of  thinking.  To  be  able  to  say  great  truths — to  dare 
say  great  truths,  you  must  be  independent  of  success,  I 
let  my  books  go,  well  assured  of  having  written  for  the 
good  of  mankind,  and  careless  of  all  else.  If  the  work  was 
rejected,  so  much  the  worse  for  those  that  would  not  profit 
by  it.  For  my  own  part,  I  had  no  need  of  their  approba- 
tion to  live  by.  My  craft  afforded  me  a  sufficient  support, 
if  my  books  did  not  sell  ;  and  this  was  precisely  the  reason 
they  did  sell. 

It  was  on  the  ninth  of  August^  1756,  that  I  left  the  city, 
never  more  to  reside  therein  ;  for  I  cannot  call  certain  brief 
stays  I  made  m  Paris,  London  or  other  cities,  always  on  the 
wing,  and  always  against  my  inclination,  living  in  them. 
Madam  d'Epinay  came  and  took  the  three  of  us  in  her  carri- 
age; her  farmer  carted  away  my  few  moveables,  and  I  took 
possession  of  my  Hermitage  that  same  day.*  I  found  my  little 
retreat  furnished  neatly,  tastefully  even,  though  with  perfect 
simplicity.  The  hand  that  had  lent  its  aid  to  this  furnish- 
ing made  every  arrangement  priceless  in  my  eyes,  and  deli- 
cious I  felt  it  to  be  the  host  of  my  friend,  in  a  house  I  had 
chosen,  and  which  she  had  built  for  me. 
.  -- .-  Though  the  weather  was  cold  and  there  was  still  snow 
i  on  the  groiuid,  vegetation  had  nevertheless  begun  :  violets 
and  primroses  were  peeping  out,  the  trees  were  commencing 
to  bud,  and  the  nightingale's  first  song  signalized  the  very 
night  of  my  arrival,  the  melody  commg  streaming  up  to  my 
■window  from  a  wood  hard  by  the  house.  After  a  light  sleep 
I  awoke,  and,  forgetfid  of  my  removal,  was  thinking  myself 
still  in  the  rue  Grenelle,  when  the  warbUiig  of  the  birds  sent 
a  thrill  of  delight  through  my  frame,  and  in  my  transport  I 
exclamied,  '  Here,  then,  at  last,  I  have  got  my  wish  !'  The 
first  thing  I  did  was  to  abandon  myself  to  the  full  feeUng  and 
enjoyment   of  the  rm'al  objects  that  surrounded  me.      In 

*  :Madam  d'Epinay  in  her  Memoires  (vol.  1,  p.  286)  gives  some 
interesting  details  respecting  this  moving.     Tr. 


142  Rousseau's  confessions. 

place  of  beginning  by  setting  household  matters  in  order,  I 
began  by  arranging  my  wallis,  and  there  was  not  a  path  or 
copse,  not  a  bosque  or  by-way  that  I  could  not  have  gone  all 
through  and  over  the  very  next  day.  The  more  I  examined 
this  charming  retreat,  the  more  I  felt  it  was  just  the  thing 
for  me.  This  spot,  lonely  rather  than  wild,  transported  me 
in  thought  to  the  world's  end.  It  had  many  of  those  strik- 
ing beauties  one  so  rarely  finds  near  cities  ;  and  never  would 
any  one,  if  suddenly  transported  thither,  have  imagmed  him- 
self within  a  dozen  miles  of  Paris. 

After  giving  way  for  several  days  to  my  rural  mania,  I 
began  to  arrange  my  papers  and  lay  out  my  occupations.  I 
set  apart,  as  I  had  always  done,  my  mornings  to  copying, 
and  my  afternoons  to  walking.  On  my  walks  I  always  went 
provided  with  my  little  blank-book  and  my  lead  pencil  ;  for 
never  having  been  able  to  write  or  think  at  my  ease  save  sub  die, 
I  was  not  tempted  to  depart  from  this  method,  and  I  calcu- 
lated that  the  forest  of  Montmorency,  which  was  at  my  door 
almost,  would  henceforth  be  my  study.  I  had  several  works 
begun  :  these  I  looked  over.  In  projects  I  was  fertile  enough, 
but,  amid  the  bustle  of  the  city,  execution  had  hitherto  gone 
on  rather  slowly.  With  less  interruption,  I  proposed  be- 
coming somewhat  more  diligent.  This  intention  I  think  I 
carried  out  pretty  well  ;  and  for  a  man  often  sick,  often  at 
La  Chevrette,  at  Epinay,  at  Baubonne,  at  the  chateau  de 
Montmorency,  often  beset  by  idlers  with  large  curiosity,  and 
always  occupied  the  half  of  the  day  at  my  copying,  if  the 
writings  I  produced  during  the  six  years  I  passed  at  Montmo- 
rency, be  computed  and  cast  up,  I  am  pretty  sure  it  will 
be  found  that,  if  I  lost  my  time  during  this  period,  I  did  not 
lose  it  in  idleness. 

/'     Of  the  divers  works  I  had  on  the  stocks,  the  one  I  had 
[most  meditated  over,  which  I  wrought  at  with  most  delight, 
I  to  which  I  would  fain  have  devoted  my  whole  hfe,  and  which, 
X*^:  in  my  thought,  was  to  put  the  seal  to  my  reputation,  was  ray 
Political  InstihUions  {Inslitutions  Politiques).     It  was  four- 
teen or  fifteen  years  .since  I  had  first  conceived  the  idea  of 
the  work  ;  it  was  suggested  while  I  was  at  Venice  by  my 
observation  of  certain  defects  in  the  so  be-praised  Venkian 
government.     Since  that  my  views   had  gained   increased 
breadth  from  my  historico-ethic  studies.     I  had  observed  that 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  IX.       1*156.  143 

everything  iu  a  state  springs  from  and  stands  related  to  its 
polity,  and  that,  any  way  you  take  it,  it  will  never  become 
anything  but  what  the  nature  of  its  government  makes 
it.  Thus  the  great  question  as  to  the  best  possible  government 
appeared  to  reduce  itself  to  something  like  this  :  "  What 
kind  of  government  is  best  fitted  to  develop  the  most  virtu- 
ous, the  most  enlightened,  the  wisest,  in  a  word,  the  best 
people,  taking  that  word  in  its  most  Uberal  acceptation  ?" 
I  seemed  also  to  perceive  that  this  question  was  closely  re- 
lated to  this  other,  if  indeed  they  were  not  one  and  the 
same :  "  What  form  of  government  always  holds  most  closely 
to  law  ?"  Thence,  "  What  is  law  ?"  and  a  series  of  questions  of 
hke  import  and  unportance.  I  saw  very  clearly  that  these  re- 
searches were  the  high-way  to  great  truths,truths  bearing  on  the 
happiness  of  the  hvmian  race,  and  especially  on  the  happiness 
of  my  country,  iu  which,  dming  my  recent  residence,  I  had 
not  found  them  entertaining  sufficiently  just  or  clear  views  of 
law  and  Mberty  to  suit  me  ;  and  I  had  thought  that  this  in- 
direct manner  would  be  the  best  way  to  give  them  such — 
the  best  way  of  getting  round  their  self-pride,  and  the  likeU- 
est  way  of  inducing  them  to  forgive  me  for  having  been  able 
to  look  a  little  more  deeply  into  the  matter  than  they  had. 

Though  I  had  already  been  engaged  for  five  or  six  years 
on  this  work,  I  had  as  yet  made  but  very  little  progress  in 
it.  Books  of  that  sort  require  meditation,  leisure  and  quiet. 
Besides,  I  was  working  at  this  project  absolutely  s%vh  rosa  ; 
I  had  not  even  mentioned  it  to  Diderot.  I  was  afraid  it 
would  seem  too  daring  for  the  age  and  country  I  wrote  in, 
and  was  fearful  that  the  anticipations  of  my  friends*  would 
be  a  restraint  on  its  execution.  I  did  not  as  yet  know 
whether  it  would  be  finished  in  time,  and  in  such  a  manner 
as  would  fit  it  for  publication  before  my  death.  I  wished 
to  be  free  to  give  my  work  all  it  asked  of  me,  well  kuow- 

*  It  was  more  especially  the  sage  severity  of  Duclos  that  inspired  me 
■with  this  fear  ;  for,  as  to  Diderot,  I  know  not  how  it  was  that  all  our 
conferences  together  constantly  tended  to  render  me  more  savage  and 
satirical  than  was  my  wont.  Indeed  it  was  this  very  fact  that  induced 
me  not  to  consult  him  upon  the  undertaking  referred  to,  as  I  wished 
that  it  should  be  characterized  simply  by  force  of  reasoning,  and  con- 
tain no  vestige  of  bile  or  partiality.  The  tone  I  had  assumed  iu 
this  work  may  be  judged  of  by  the  Social  Contract,  which  is  an  extract 
therefrom. 


144  Rousseau's  confessions. 

ino-  that  not  being  of  a  satiric  humor,  and  having  no  desire 
to%e  personal,  I  should  always  in  all  equity  be  irreprehen- 
sible  Undoubtedly  I  wished  to  use  fully  the  freedom  of 
thouo-ht  that  I  had  as  my  birth-right  ;  but  so  to  employ  it 
as  never  to  be  disrespectful  towards  the  government  under 
which  I  was  living,  and  never  to  disobey  its  laws  :  but 
while  ever  watchful  not  to  infringe  on  the  rights  of  others, 
I  was  loath  to  give  up  my  own  rights.  _ 

I  confess,  too,  that  living,  as  I  was,  a  foreigner  in 
France,  my  situation  seemed  to  me  very  favorable  for  dar- 
ino-  to  be  true,  well  aware  that  contiuuing,  as  I  wished  to 
do°  not  to  print  anything  in  the  State  without  first  obtain- 
in*^  permission,  I  was  responsible  to  nobody  for  my  principles 
or°their  publication  elsewhere.  I  should  have  been  much 
less  free  at  Geneva  even,  where,  wherever  my  books  might 
have  been  printed,  the  magistrate  had  a  right  to  criticise 
their  contents.  This  consideration  had  greatly  contributed 
to  make  me  yield  to  the  solicitations  of  Madam  d'Epinay, 
and  renounce  the  project  of  going  and  settling  down  at 
Geneva.  I  felt,  as  I  have  observed  in  the  Emtle*  that 
unless  in  the  case  of  an  intriguer,  if  a  man  wishes  to  devote 
a  book  to  the  real  good  of  his  country,  he  must  compose  it 
in  some  other.  ^ 

What  made  me  regard  my  situation  as  still  more  lor- 
tunate  was  the  persuasion  I  felt  that  the  government  of 
France,  without,  perhaps,  regarding  me  in  the  most  favor- 
able possible  light,  would  yet  esteem  it  honorably  behooving 
it  if  not  to  protect  me,  at  least  to  let  me  alone.  It  was, 
as  it  seemed  to  me,  a  very  simple,  yet  quite  dexterous 
stroke  of  policy  to  claim  credit  for  tolerating  what  they 
could  not  prevent ;  seeing  that,  had  they  driven  me  from 
France,  (which  was  all  they  had  the  right  to  do,)  my  works 
would  none  the  less  have  continued  to  be  written,  and  with 
less  reserve,  too,  it  might  be  ;  whereas,  by  leaving  me  un- 
disturbed, they  kept  the  author  as  a  pledge  for  his  works; 
and  further,  erased  from  the  mind  of  the  rest  of  Europe  a 
very  deep-rooted  prejudice,  by  gaining  credit  for  having  an 
enlightened  respect  for  personal  rights. 

If  anybody  undertakes  to  say,  from  the  subsequent  up- 
shot of  things,  that  I  was  deceived  in  my  confidence,  he, 
*  Book  V.     Tr, 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  IX      1*156.  145 

too,  might  be  mistaken.  In  the  storm  that  overwhelmed 
me,  my  books  served  as  a  pretext  for  the  attack,  but  it  was 
against  my  person  that  the  spite  was  entertained.  They 
gave  themselves  small  concern  about  the  matter,  'twas 
Jean  Jacques  they  wished  to  ruin  ;  and  the  greatest  sin 
they  found  in  "my  writings  was  the  honor  they  might 
do  me.  But  let  us  not  encroach  on  the  future.  Whether 
this  mystery — and  it  is  a  mystery  still  to  me — will  be  cleared 
up  to  my  readers'  eyes,  I  know  not ;  I  only  know  that  if 
my  declared  principles  were  the  moving  cause  of  the  perse- 
cutions that  befel  me,  'tis  strange  they  were  so  loug  put  off, 
for  the  one  of  all  my  writings  wlierein  these  principles  are 
avowed  with  the  most  boldness,  not  to  say  audacity,* 
seemed  to  have  produced  its  due  eifect  before  my  retirement 
to  the  Hermitage  even  ;  and  yet  nobody  dreamt — I  shall 
not  say  of  making  it  the  subject  of  a  quarrel  with  me — 
nobody  even  dreamt  of  preventing  the  publication  of 
the  work  in  France,  where  it  sold  just  as  publicly  as  in 
Holland.  Afterwards,  the  Nouvdh  Heloise  appeared  in  the 
same  open  and  unimpeded  manner,  nay,  I  shall  add,  with 
the  same  welcome  and  applause  ;  and,  what  seems  all  but 
incredible,  that  same  dying  Heloise's  profession  of  faith  is 
in  every  point  identical  with  the  Savoyard  Vicar's.  There 
is  not  a  strong  idea  in  the  Social  Contract  that  had  not  be- 
fore appeared  in  the  Dissertation  on  Inequality  ;  not  a  bold 
idea  in  the  Emile  not  previously  published  in  the  Nouvdh 
Heloise  Now,  as  this  outspokenness  did  not  excite  the 
least  murmur  against  the  first  two  works,  surely  'twas  not 
it  that  raised  the  storm  against  the  last  two. 

Another  project  of  kindred  nature,  though  the  idea  was 
a  more  recent  one,  also  claimed  a  good  deal  of  my  attention  : 
this  was  the  excerpting  and  editing  of  the  works  of  the  Abbe 
de  Saint-Pierre,  an  undertaking  whereof,  drawn  on  by  the 
thread  of  the  narrative,  I  have  not  been  able  to  speak  till 
now.  The  idea  had  been  suggested  to  me,  since  my  return 
from  Geneva,  by  the  Abbe  de  Mably  ;  not  immediately,  but 
through  the  intervention  of  Madam  Dnpin,  who  had  some 
interest  in  getting  me  to  go  into  it.  She  was  one  of  the 
three  or  four  pretty  women  of  Paris,  whose  spoiled  child  the 
Abbe  Saint-Pierre  had  been  ;  and  if  she  was  not  decidedly 

*  "The  Discours  sur  rinei^alite."     Tr. 

11  ^  T 


146  Rousseau's  confessions. 

his  favorite,  she  had  at  least  divided  his  heart  with  Madam 
d'Aiguillon.     She  preserved  a  respect  and  affection  for  the 
memory  of  the  good  man  that  did  honor  to  them  both  ;  so 
that  her  self-love  would   be  quite  flattered  by  seeing  her 
friend's  still-born  works  brought  to  life  and  light  by  her  sec- 
retary.    The  works  themselves  were  by  no  means  lackmg 
in  most  excellent  stuff,  but  so  badly  worked  up  that  it  was 
next  to  unpossible  to  read  them  ;  and  it  is  astonishing  that 
the  Abbe  de  Saint  Pierre,  who  was  m  the  habit  of  regard- 
ing  his    readers    as    so   many    overgro^m    boys,    should, 
by  the  very  little  care  he  took  to  get  them  to  give  him  a 
hearing,  nevertheless  have  addressed  them  as  though  they 
had  been  men.     It  was  to  the  end  of  putting  the  Abbe  into 
a  more  acceptable  dress  that  the  task  was  proposed  to  me, 
proposed  as  being  useful  in  itself,  and  just  the  thmg  for  a 
man  like  me,  that  was  a  laborious  manipulator,  but  very  lazy 
as  an  author,— who,  finding  the   trouble  of  thinking  too 
fatiguing,  was  fonder,  in  things  that  were  to  his  taste,  of  _de- 
velopmg  and  iUustrating  another's  ideas  than  of  creatmg  him- 
self.    Besides,  in  not  luniting  me  to  the  mere  task  of  a  trans- 
lator, I  was  not  forbidden  to  thmk  for  myself,  and  I  had  the 
opportunity  of  giving  such  a  form  to  the  work  as  to  pass  off 
many  an  important  truth  under  the  robe  of  the  Abbe  Samt- 
Pierre  much  better  than  I  could  have  done  directly  in  my 
own  name.     The  task,  by  the  way,  was  no  light  one  :  it  in- 
volved nothing  less  than  reading  over,  meditatmg  and  giving 
the  essence  of  twenty-three  diffuse  and  confused  tomes,  full  of 
prolixities  and  repetitions,  and  stuffed  with  views  petty  or 
false  from  amongst  which  were  to  be  extracted  certain  great 
and  splendid  ideas,  the  discovery  of  which  were  to  inspire  me 
with  sufficient  courage  to  go  through  with  the  toilsome  drud- 
gery.    I  would  many  a  time  have  thrown  it  up,  could  I  de- 
cently have  got  out  of  it ;  but  by  receiving  the  Abbe's  manu- 
scripts (given  me  by  his  nephew  Count  de  Saint-Pierre  at 
the  solicitation  of  Saint-Lambert)  I  had,  in  a  way,  engaged 
to  make  use  of  them.     There  were  but  two  things  to  be 
done      Either  to  return  them  or  try  and  do  something  mih 
them,  and  it  was  in  this  last  intention  that  I  had  brought  the 
manuscripts  to  the  Hermitage.     This  was  the  first  task  to 
which  I  counted  on  devoting  my  leisure. 

Inhere  was  a  third  work  I  had  m  my  mmd,  for  the  idea 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  IX.       1766.  147 

of  which  I  was  indebted  to  observations  made  on  myself ; 
and  I  felt  all  the  more  conrage  to  undertake  it  in  that  I  had 
reason  to  hope  I  could  make  the  book  truly  useful  to  man- 
kind, ay,  one  of  the  most  useful  possible,  did  the  execution 
but  worthily  realize  the  plan  I  had  drawn  out.  It  must  be 
a  mattter  of  common  remark  that  most  men  are,  in  the  course 
of  their  lives,  often  unlike  themselves,  and  seem  as  though 
transformed  into  quite  other  beings.  It  was  not  to  establish 
so  well  known  a  fact  as  this  that  I  designed  writing  a  book  ; 
I  had  a  newer  and  at  the  same  time  a  more  important  end 
in  view,  namely,  to  attempt  the  discovery  of  the  cause  of 
these  variations,  and  by  confining  my  observations  to  such 
as  depend  on  ourselves,  to  point  out  how  we  might  so  direct 
them  as  to  render  us  better,  and  more  sm'e  of  ourselves.  For 
it  is  undoubtedly  a  more  difficult  task  for  the  honest  man  to 
resist  desires  already  fonned,  and  which  it  is  his  duty  to  sub- 
due, than  to  prevent,  change  or  modify  the  same  desii'es  at 
their  source,  were  he  but  capable  of  going  back  thereto.  A 
man  under  temptation  resists  at  one  time  because  he  is  strong, 
and  succumbs  again  because  he  is  weak  :  now,  had  he  been 
the  last  time  as  he  was  the  first,  he  would  not  have  suc- 
cumbed. 

By  sounding  within  myself  and  searching  in  others  for 
the  cause  of  these  divers  moods,  I  found  that  they  depended 
in  a  great  measure  on  an  anterior  impression  produced  by 
external  objects,  so  that  we,  constantly  modified  by  our  sen- 
ses and  our  organs,  unconsciously  carried  into  our  ideas  and 
sentiments,  and  even  into  our  actions,  the  effect  of  these  mo- 
difications. The  numerous  and  striking  observations  I  had 
collected  put  the  matter  beyond  all  dispute,  while  from  their 
physical  basis,  they  seemed  to  me  fitted  to  develop  an  exter- 
nal regimen,  which,  varied  according  to  cu'cumstances,  might 
bring  the  soul  into  the  state  most  favorable  to  virtue,  and 
maintain  it  so.  How  many  errors  would  we  save  ourselves 
from,  how  many  vices  would  we  keep  from  springing  up, 
could  we  but  force  the  animal  economy,  which  so  often  dis- 
turbs the  moral  order,  to  favor  it !  Climates,  seasons, 
sounds,  colors,  light,  darkness,  the  elements,  food,  noise, 
silence,  motion,  rest,  all  act  on  our  physical  frame  and  there- 
by on  our  mind  ;  all,  too,  offer  us  a  thousand  almost  certain 
means  of  directing  the  first  germings  of  the  sentiments  by 


]^48  Rousseau's  confessions. 

which  we  allow  ourselves  to  be  governed.  Such  was  the 
fundamental  idea  whereof  I  had  already  made  a  sketch  on 
paper,  and  from  which  I  anticipated  all  the  more  certam  an 
eflect'on  well-disposed  persons,  who,  sincerely  loving  virtue, 
are  distrustful  of  then  own  frailty,  in  that  it  seemed  to  me 
easy  to  work  the  system  up  into  a  book  as  agreeable  to  read 
as  to  compose.  I  did  not,  however,  do  much  at  the  work,  the 
title  of  which  was  to  have  been  Sensational  Morality,  or  the 
Materialism  of  the  Sage  (la  Morale  sensitive,  ou  la  Material- 
isme  du  Sage).  Interruptions,  the  cause  whereof  will  soon 
be  learnt,  prevented  my  continuing  it,  and  in  the  sequel 
the  reader  will  also  learn  the  fate  of  my  sketch,  a  fate 
more  closely  related  to  my  own  lot  than  might  at  hrst 
appear.  .  . 

Besides  aU  this,  I  had  for  some  time  been  revolvmg  over 
in  my  head  a  system  of  education— a  subject  Madam  de 
Chenonceaux  had  asked  me  to  think  over,  as  her  husband's 
upbringing  made  her  tremble  for  the  education  of  her  son 
The  authority  of  friendship  caused  this  task,  though  in  itselt 
less  to  my  taste,  to  occupy  more  of  my  thoughts  than  all  the 
others.  Thus,  of  all  the  projects  whereof  I  have  just  spoken, 
this  is  the  only  one  I  went  completely  thi'ough  with.  The 
aim  I  had  in  view,  while  engaged  on  it  should,  as  it  seems  to 
me  have  procured  the  author  a  better  fate.  But  let  us  not 
here  anticipate  the  sad  subject :  I  shall  be  forced  to  speak 
but  too  frequently  thereof  in  the  sequel. 

These  divers  projects  all  offered  me  subjects  for  meditar 
tion  while  on  my  walks  ;  for,  as  I  believe  I  have  before 
observed  I  am  unable  to  think  unless  I  am  walking  ;  just  as 
soon  as  I  stop,  my  thoughts  leave  me,  and  my  bram  moves 
only  while  my  feet  do.  I  had,  however,  taken  care  to  pro- 
vide myself  with  a  task  for  in<loor  work,  when  confined 
within  the  house  of  a  rainy  day.  This  was  my  "Mjisual  Dic- 
tionary "  the  materials  for  which,  scattered,  mutilated,  and 
unshapen,  made  it  all  but  necessary  for  me  to  do  the  whole 
of  it  over  again.  I  brought  with  me  several  books  .1  needed, 
and  had  spMit  two  months  in  the  Bibliotheque  du  Eoi,  ex- 
ceri)ting  from  many  others  they  let  me  have,  certam  of  which 
they  even  allowed  me  to  bring  with  me  to  the  Hermitage.  Such 
was  the  material  I  had  to  work  up  when  kept  withm  doors 
or  when  I  got  tired  of  copymg.     This  arrangement  was 


PERIOD  11.      BOOK  IX,       1756.  149 

so  much  to  my  taste,  that  I  kept  it  up  both  at  the 
Hermitage  and  at  Montmorency,  also  afterwards  at  Motiers 
where  I  finished  the  work  while  engaged  on  others  at  the 
same  time.  I  have  always  found  that  a  change  of  employ- 
ment is  a  real  relaxation. 

For  a  good  while,  I  kept  up  quite  exactly  the  distribu- 
tion I  had  prescribed  myself,  and  found  it  very  agreeable  ; 
but  when  the  fine  weather  brought  Madam  d'Epinay  to 
Ei^iuay  or  to  La  Chevrette,  I  discovered  that  attentions, 
which,  indeed,  cost  me  nothing,  but  which  I  had  not  brought 
into  the  calculation,  considerably  deranged  my  scheme.  1 
have  observed  that  Madam  d'Epinay  had  many  very  amiable 
qualities  ;  she  loved  her  friends  well  and  served  them  most 
zealously,  and,  as  she  spared  neither  time  nor  pains  to  render 
them  happy,  it  was  but  right  that  they  should  be  attentive 
to  her  in  return.  Hitherto  I  had  discharged  this  duty  with- 
out considering  it  one  ;  but  I  at  length  found  out  that  I  had 
put  a  yoke  on  my  own  neck  that  only  friendship  prevented 
me  from  finding  heavy.  Tliis,  too,  I  had  aggravated  by  my 
re])ugnance  for  large  companies.  Madam  d'Epinay  took 
advantage  of  this  to  make  me  a  proposition  that  seemed  to 
suit  me  exactly,  but  which  in  reality  suited  her  a  good  deal 
better  ;  this  was  that  she  should  send  me  word  whenever  she 
was  alone  or  about  so.  This  I  agreed  to  without  foreseeing 
what  was  going  to  come  of  it.  The  consequence  was  that 
my  visits  to  her  were  no  longer  made  at  my  hour  but  at 
her's,  and  that  I  was  never  certain  of  being  my  own  master 
for  a  single  day.  This  constraint  greatly  diminished  the 
pleasure  I  used  to  have  in  going  to  see  her.  It  turned  out 
that  the  liberty  she  had  so  promised  me  was  given  me  only  on 
condition  of  my  never  enjoying  it  ;  and  the  once  or  twice  I 
did  try  to,  there  were  so  many  messages  and  notes  and 
alarms  about  my  health,  that  I  plainly  saw  that  only  my 
being  confined  to  bed  could  excuse  me  from  running  at  her 
first  word.  This  yoke  had  to  be  borne,  so  I  bore  it ;  and  that, 
too,  much  more  willingly  than  was  to  be  expected  of  so 
great  a  lover  of  independence,  the  sincere  attachment  I  felt 
for  her  preventing  me  in  a  great  measure  from  feeling  the 
bonds  and  hampering  connected  therewith.  She  thus  filled 
up,  better  or  worse,  the  void  the  absence  of  her  usual  com- 
pany made  in  her  amusements.     To  be  sure,  the  supplement 


150  RODSSEAU'S  CONFESSIONS. 

was  but  a  very  slender  one  for  her,  though  better  than  abso- 
kte  solitude,  which  she  could  not  bear  at  all.     She  had  this 
finely  made  up,  however,  when  she  got  to  dabbling  hi  hterature 
and  nil  he,  will  he,  would  pereist  in  composing  romances, 
letters  comedies,  tales,  and  other  rubbish  of  the  like  ilk. 
But  what  amused  her  was  not  so  much  the  writing  as  the 
reading  of  her  productions,  and  if  she  chanced  to  string  toge- 
ther two  or  three  pages  in  succession,  she  had,  any  way,  to 
be  sure  of  two  or  three  benevolent  auditors  at  the  end  of  so 
prodigious  a  labor.     I  had  rarely  the  honor  of  being  one  of 
the  elect,  unless  as  a  second  party.     Alone,  I  was  counted 
pretty  much  as  a  cipher  in  everything  ;  and  this  not  only  m 
Madam  d'Epiuay's  cu'cle,  but  also  in  M.  d'Holbach's,  and 
wherever  M.  Gruum  gave    the   ton.     This  nullity   smted 
me  first-rate  everywhere,  but  when  the  conversation  happened 
to  be  in  private,  when  I  knew  not  what  countenance  to  put 
on  as  I  dared  not  speak  of  literature,  it  not  being  for  me  to 
pronounce  opinions  thereanent,  nor  yet  of  gallantry,  bemg  too 
timid  and  fearing  worse  than  I  did  death  the  ridiculosity  of 
an  old  gallant  :  and  besides,  indeed,  I  never  had  an  idea  ot 
the  kind  when  in  the  company  of  Madam  d'Epinay  nor 
would  such  a  thing  have  once  entered  my  head,  had  I  lived 
a  whole  fife-time  with  her  :  not  that  I  had  any  repugnance 
for  her  person  ;  on  the  contrary,  I  perhaps  loved  her  too 
much  as  a  friend  to  do  so  as  a  lover.     I  felt  apleasure  m 
seeino-   and  talking   with   her.     Her   conversation,  though 
agreeable  enough  in  company,  was  rather  dry  m  pnvate  ; 
mine  which  was  not  a  whit  more  flowery,  afforded  her  no 
great  succor.      Ashamed  at  too  long  a  silence,  _  I  would 
bend    all   my   efforts    to    enliven    the    conversation  ;    and 
thouo-h  this  often  fatigued,  it  never  bored  me.     I  was  very 
happy  in  showing  her  any  little  attention,  in  giving  her  a 
very  fraternal  little  kiss  now  and  i\\m— fraternal,  I  say,  and 
she  too,  seemed  to  regard  it  very  much  in  the  same  ight  : 
that  was  all.     She  was  very  thin  and  very  pale  and  tiad_  a 
bosom  like  my  hand.     This  defect  would  of  itself  have  been 
enough    to    cool    any    extra    ardor:  never    could   either 
mv  heart  or  senses  see  a  woman  in  a  person  without  breasts; 
and  besides,  other  causes,  useless  to  mention,  always  made 
me  forget  her  sex  when  along  with  her.  ^ 

Having  thus   made  up   my  mind  to  put  up  with   this 


PERIOD  11.       BOOK  IX.      1*156.  151 

seemingly  inevitable  subjection,  I  voluntarily  submitted 
thereto,  and  I  found  it,  at  least  during  the  first  year,  much 
less  onorous  than  I  had  anticipated.  Madam  d'Epinay, 
who  ordinarily  passed  almost  the  whole  summer  in  the  coun- 
try, only  passed  a  part  of  this,  either  that  her  affairs  kept 
hei'  longer  in  Paris,  or  because  the  absence  of  Grimm  ren- 
dered life  at  La  Chevrette  less  agreeable  to  her.  I  took 
advantage  of  the  intervals  of  her  absence,  or  when  she  had 
a  great  deal  of  company,  to  enjoy  my  soUtude  along  with 
my  good  Therese  and  her  mother  ;  and  enjoy  it  I  did  in  such 
a  way  as  fully  to  realize  its  value.  Though  I  had  for  sev- 
eral years  back  been  in  the  habit  of  often  going  to  the 
country,  I  had  scarcely  enjoyed  it  at  all  ;  these  excursions, 
always  made  in  company  with  pretensions  people,  and 
spoiled  in  consequence  of  constraint,  had  but  sharpened 
my  taste  for  rural  pleasures,  the  image  whereof  I  saw  closer 
at  hand  only  the  keener  to  feel  their  privation.  I  was  so  sick 
of  parlors,  jets  d'eau,  groves,  parterres,  and  the  more  sicken- 
ing showers  up  thereof;  so  bored  with  pamphlets,  harpsi- 
chords, trios,  plots,  abortive  witicisms,  stale  affectations,  small 
story-tellers  and  large  suppers,  that  when,  from  the  corner 
of  my  eye,  I  but  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  poor  simple  haw- 
thorn bush,  of  a  hedge  or  barn  or  meadow  ;  when  in  pas- 
sing through  a  hamlet  I  snuffed  the  odor  of  a  good  chervil 
omelette  ;  when  from  afar  the  rustic  refrain  of  the  bisquieres^ 
song  was  borne  to  my  ears,  I  sent  all  their  rouge  and  fur- 
belows and  amber  to  the  devil  ;  and,  regretting  the  house- 
wife's dinner  and  the  home-made  wine,  I  could  heartily 
have  slapped  the  cheek  of  Monsieur  le  chef  and  Monsieur 
le  maitre  who  made  me  dine  at  my  supper  hour,  and  sup  at 
my  bed  time  ;  but  especially  I  should  have  liked  to  have 
given  it  to  Messieurs  the  lackeys,  who  with  their  eyes  de- 
voured every  morsel  I  put  into  my  mouth,  and  under  pain 
of  dying  of  thirst,  sold  me  their  master's  adulterated  wine 
ten  times  dearer  than  I  would  have  paid  for  a  great  deal 
better  at  the  ale-house. 

So  here  I  was  at  last,  settled  down  at  home,  in  an 
agreeable  and  solitary  retreat,  free  to  pass  my  life  in 
the  independent,  calm,  equable  way  whereto  I  felt  born. 
Before  going  on  to  tell  what  eifect  this  condition  of 
things,  so  new  to  me,  had  on  my  heart,  it  is  proper  I  should 


152  ROnSSEAU's  confessioxs 

go  over  the  secret  affections  at  work  while  thus  situated, 
so  that  the  reader  may  be  better  able  to  follow  in  their 
causes  the  progress  of  these  new  modifications. 

I  have  always  regarded  the  day  that  united  me  to  The- 
rese  as  that  which  fixed  my  moral  existence.  I  needed  an 
attachment,  since,  alas  !  the  tie  that  was,  and  would  have 
been  everything  to  me,  had  to  be  so  cruelly  broken.  The 
thirst  after  happiness  is  never  extiuguished  in  the  breast  of 
man.  Mavian  was  growing  old,  was  fallen  and  degraded  : 
it  was  plain  to  me  that  she  could  never  more  be  happy  here 
below.  There  remained,  then,  for  me  but  to  seek  happi- 
ness within  myself,  having  lost  all  hope  of  ever  sharing 
her's.  I  floated  for  some  time  from  idea  to  idea,  and  from 
project  to  project.  My  journey  to  Venice  would  have 
thrown  me  into  public  life,  had  the  man  with  whom  I  had, 
spite  of  my  inclination,  connected  myself,  been  possessed  of 
common  sense.  I  am  easily  discouraged,  especially  in  un- 
dertakings of  length  and  difficulty.  The  ill  success  of  the 
project  referred  to  disgusted  me  with  every  other  ;  and 
regardim;  distant  prospects,  according  to  my  old  maxim,  as 
bu°  dupe'lures,  I  determined  henceforth  to  let  the  morrow 
take  care  of  itself,  seeing  nothing  in  life  to  tempt  me  to 
exert  myself. 

It  was  precisely  at  this  period  that  we  became  ac- 
quainted. The  mild  disposition  of  this  amiable  girl  seemed 
so  suited  to  my  own,  that  I  clung  to  her  with  an  attach- 
ment that  has  proved  proof  against  time  and  misfortune, 
and  which  has  constantly  increased  by  the  very  means  that 
might  have  been  expected  to  diminish  it.  The  strength 
of  this  attachment  will  hereafter  appear  when  I  come  to 
speak  of  how  she  has  wounded  and  rent  my  heart,  when 
plunged  in  my  deepest  misery,  without  my  ever  having  once, 
until  this  moment,  uttered  a  single  word  of  complaint  to 
anybody. 

When  it  shall  be  known  that  after  having  done  every- 
thing, braved  everything  not  to  be  separated  from  her, 
that^'aftcr  twenty  years  passed  with  her  in  despite  of  fate 
and  men,  I  have  ended  in  my  old  days  by  marrying  her, 
without  expectatiou  or  solicitation  on  her  part,  without 
eno-agement  or  promise  on  mine,  it  will  be  thought  that  a 
mad ''love,  having  from  the  first  day,  turned  my  head,  but 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  IX.       1756.  153 

led  me  by  degrees  to  this  the  last  act  of  extravagance  ;  and 
this  opinion  will  receive  additional  conliraiatiou  when  the 
powerful  private  reasons  why  I  should  not  have  done  so, 
shall  be  known.  What,  then,  will  the  reader  think  when 
I  tell  him,  in  all  the  verity  he  must  now  give  me  credit  for, 
that  from  the  hrst  moment  I  knew  her  up  to  this  present 
day,  I  never  felt  the  faintest  spark  of  love  for  her  ;  that 
I  never  desired  to  possess  her  any  more  than  I  had  Ma- 
dam de  Warens,  and  that  the  sense-wants  she  gratified 
for  me  were  purely  sexual,  and  had  no  relation  to  her  in- 
dividuality ?  He  will  think  that,  differently  constituted 
from  otlier  men,  I  was  incapable  of  feeling  love,  since  this 
was  a  feeling  that  never  entered  into  the  sentiments  that 
bound  me  to  the  woman  most  dear  to  my  heart.  Patience, 
O  my  reader  !  the  fatal  moment  draws  nigh  when  you  will 
be  but  too  thoroughly  undeceived. 

I  fall  into  repetitions,  as  must  be  evident.  I,  too,  know 
it,  but  so  it  must  be.  The  first  of  my  wants,  the  greatest, 
the  most  powerful,  most  inextinguishible  was  a  heart-want; 
the  longing  for  intimate  fellowship— the  most  intimate  pos- 
sible :  and  it  was  for  this  reason  mainly,  that  I  required 
the  fellowship  of  a  woman  rather  than  a  man — an  aviie 
rather  than  an  ami.  This  singular  craving  was  such  that 
the  closest  corporeal  union  was  yet  not  enough  :  I  would 
have  had  two  souls  in  the  same  body  ;  without  this  I 
always  felt  a  void  I  now  thought  I  was  soon  to  have  this 
void  filled.  This  young  person,  amiable  by  a  thousand  ex- 
cellent qualities,  of  gi'aceful  form  then,  too,  without  the 
shadow  of  art  or  coquetry,  would  have,  in  herself,  bounded 
my  whole  existence,  if  as  I  had  hoped,  her's  could  have 
Deen  bound  up  in  mine.  I  had  nothing  to  fear  as  far  as 
men  w^ent — I  am  sure  of  having  been  the  only  man  she  ever 
loved,  and  her  calm  passions  but  little  tempted  her  to  seek 
elsewhere,  even  after  I  had  ceased  to  be,  in  this  respect,  a 
husband  to  her.  I  had  no  family-connections,  she  had;  and 
these  connections,  differing  entirely  in  taste  and  disposition 
from  myself,  were  not  such  that  I  could  make  them  my 
family.  This  was  the  first  cause  of  my  unhappiness.  What 
would  I  not  have  given  could  I  but  have  called  her  mother 
mine,  too !  I  did  all  I  could  to  have  it  so,  but  never  suc- 
ceeded.    Vainly  I  attempted  to  unite  all  our  interests — 

IT.  1* 


154  ROTJSSEAU'S  CONFESSIONS. 

'twas  impossible.  She  would  make  herself  one  different 
from  mine,  contrary  thereto,  nay,  contrary  to  her  daughter's, 
whose  interest  was  now  bound  up  with  mine.  She  and  her 
other  children  and  her  grand-children  became  so  many 
leeches,  and  the  least  harm  they  did  Therese  was  robbing 
her  The  poor  girl,  accustomed  to  cow,  even  to  her  nieces, 
suft\?red  herself  to  be  pilfered  and  domineered  over  without 
a  word  of  remonstrance  ;  and  I  saw  with  grief  that  alter 
exhausting  my  purse  and  my  advice  on  her  I  was  doing 
DOthing  that  could  be  of  any  real  advantage  to  her.  I  tried  to 
detach  her  from  her  mother  ;  but  she  would  never  give  m. 
I  respected  her  resistance,  and  thought  all  the  more  ot  her 
therefor  ;  but  her  refusal  was  none  the  less  to  the  prejudice 
of  us  both  Quite  given  over  to  her  mother  and  kin,  she 
was  more  theirs  than  mine,  more  theirs  than  her  own.  Their 
avarice  was  less  ruinous  to  her  than  their  advice  was  per- 
nicious :  in  fine,  if,  thanks  to  her  love  for  me,  it,  thanks  to 
her  good  angel,  she  was  not  wholly  overcome  by  them,  she 
was  at  least  sufficiently  so  to  prevent  in  a  great  measure 
the  effect  of  the  good  principles  I  endeavored  to  instill  into 
her— sufficiently  so  that,  spite  of  all  my  efforts  to  the  con- 
trary, we  have  always  continued  two. 

Thus  was  it  that,  notwithstanding  our  sincere  and  re- 
ciprocal attachment,  an  attachment  which  had  all  my 
heart's  tenderness,  my  heart's  void  was  never  quite  filled. 
Children  the  required  complement  came  :  'twas  still  worse. 
I  trembled  at  the  thought  of  entrusting  them  to  this  mis- 
reared  family  only  to  be  worse  brought  up  still.  The  risk 
of  education  at  the  Foundling  Hospitals  was  much  less. 
This  reason  for  the  course  I  pursued,  more  powerful  than 
all  those  I  stated  in  my  letter  to  Madam  de  Francueil,  was 
nevertheless  the  only  one  I  dared  not  tell  her.  I  preierred 
to  exculpate  myself  less  from  so  grave  a  charge,  so  I  might 
spare  the  family  of  her  I  loved.  But  it  may  be  judged 
from  the  conduct  of  her  wretched  brother,  whether  I  ought 
to  have  exposed  my  children  to  receive  an  education  like 

^Unable  thus  to  enjoy  in  all  its  fullness  that  close  fellow- 
ship ray  heart  so  craved,  I  sought  for  substitutes  which 
though  they  did  not  fill  up  the  void,  yet  rendered  it  less 
sensible      For  want  of  some  soul  that  would  be  mme,  and 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  IX.      1156.  155 

mine  wholly,  I  took  to  friends  whose  stimulus  would  over- 
come my  indoleuce.  Hence  it  was  that  I  cultivated  and 
strengthened  my  connection  with  Diderot,  with  the  Abbe 
de  Coudillac,  that  I  formed  new  and  closer  ties  with 
Grimm  ;  till  at  length  by  the  unfortunate  'Dissertation^ 
whereof  I  have  given  an  account,  I  found  myself  again 
thrown  into  the  world  of  literature,  whence  I  had  thought 
myself  forever  escaped. 

Aly  outset  led  me  by  a  new  road  into  a  quite  other  in- 
tellectual world,  the  simple  yet  high  economy  whereof  I 
cannot  contemplate  without  enthusiasm.  Ere  long,  what 
by  brooding  over  the  subject,  I  came  to  see  naught  but 
error  and  folly  in  the  teachings  of  our  philosophers,  oppres- 
sion and  misery  in  our  social  system.  In  the  illusion  of  my 
high-wrought  pride,  I  thought  myself  born  to  dissipate  all 
this  system  of  shams  ;  and,  judging  that,  to  obtain  a  hear- 
ing, I  must  bring  my  practice  up  to  the  mark  of  my  preach- 
ing, I  adopted  a  course  that  was  never  paralleled,  and 
which  the  world  would  not  allow  me  to  pursue,  a  course 
for  setting  the  example  of  which  my  pretended  friends 
never  forgave  me,  a  course  which  at  iirst  rendered  me  ridic- 
ulous, but  which  would  at  length  have  rendered  me  worthy 
of  all  respect,  had  it  been  possible  for  me  to  persevere 
therein. 

Hitherto  my  conduct  had  been  blameless  ;  thenceforth, 
I  became  virtuous,  or  at  least  intoxicated  with  virtue. 
This  intoxication  had  begun  in  my  head,  but  it  passed  into 
my  heart.  On  the  wreck  of  my  uprooted  vanity  the  noblest 
pride  sprang  up.  There  was  no  affectation  in  my  conduct: 
I  became,  in  reality,  such  as  I  seemed  ;  and  during  the  four 
years  or  more  that  this  effervescence  continued  in  all  its 
force,  there  was  naught  good  or  fair  whereof  I  was  not 
capable  between  Heaven  and  me.  Thence  sprang  my  sud- 
den eloquence,  thence  flowed  into  my  first  books  that  truly 
celestial  fire  that  consumed  me,  and  of  which,  during 
forty  years,  not  a  spark  had  escaped,  because  it  was  not  yet 
kindled. 

I  was  indeed  transformed  :  my  friends  and  familiars  no 
longer  knew  me.  I  was  no  more  that  timid  and  bashful, 
rather  than  modest  man,  who  neither  knew  how  to  speak 
or  act,  whom  a  smart  thing  disconcerted,  and  a  woman's 


156  Rousseau's  confessions. 

look  covered  with  blushes.  Bold,  proud,  firm  planted  on 
my  feet,  my  every  word  and  act  carried  with  it  an  assur- 
ance all  the  surer  in  that  it  was  an  assurance  of  the  soul, 
not  of  the  behavior.  The  contempt  my  profound  medita- 
tions has  inspired  me  with  for  the  manners,  maxims  and  pre- 
judices of  my  age,  rendered  me  insensible  to  the  railleries  of 
those  as  yet  enthralled  therein,  and  I  crushed  their  petty 
witticisms  with  a  sentence  as  I  would  crush  an  insect  be- 
tween my  fingers.  What  a  change  1  All  Paris  repeated 
the  sharp  and  stinging  sarcasms  of  the  man  who,  two  years 
before  and  ten  years  afterwards,  could  not  find  what  he 
had  to  say,  stumbled  and  stuttered  at  the  word  to  use.  A 
state  more  completely  the  antipode  of  my  natural  disposi- 
tion, it  would  be  utterly  impossible  to  discover.  Let  one 
of  the  brief  seasons  of  my  life  be  recalled  when  I  became 
another  man,  and  ceased  to  be  myself,  and  some  faint  idea 
of  my  present  condition  may  be  got  ;  but  in  place  of  last- 
ing six  days  or  six  weeks,  it  lasted  near  six  years,  and 
would,  it  may  be,  still  have  lasted,  had  not  special  circum- 
stances broke  it  off,  and  brought  me  back  to  nature,  above 
which  I  aspired  to  rise. 

This  change  commenced  just  as  soon  as  I  left  Paris,  and 
the  sight  of  the  vices  of  that  great  city  ceased  feeding  the 
indignation  it  had  inspu'ed.  On  ceasing  to  see  men,  I  ceased 
to  despise  them,  and  once  removed  from  evil  doers,  I  ceased 
hating  them.  My  heart,  but  little  made  for  hating,  any 
way,  now  only  deplored  the  miseries  of  mankind, — and  their 
miseries  hid  then-  wickedness.  This  calmer  but  far  less  sub- 
lime spirit  soon  damped  the  ardent  enthusiasm  that  had  so 
long  exalted  me ;  and  without  its  being  perceived,  without 
perceiving  it  myself  hardly,  I  again  became  timorous  and 
complaisant — in  a  word,  the  same  Jean  Jacques  I  had  been 
before. 

Had  the  effect  of  this  revolution  been  simply  to  restore 
me  to  myself,  and  then  stopped  there,  all  had  been  well ;  but 
unfortunately  it  went  farther  and  rapidly  carried  me  to  the 
other  extreme.  Thenceforth  my  agitated  soul  has  but  passed 
by  the  line  of  repose  ;  its  ever-renewed  oscillations  have  never 
permitted  it  to  remain  there.  Let  us  enter  into  the  details 
of  this  second  revolution,  the  terrible  and  fatal  crisis  of  a 
destmy  unexampled  among  men 


PERIOD  11.      BOOK  IX.      1756.  15t 

There  being  l)nt  thvee  of  us  in  our  retirement,  leisure 
and  solitude  should  naturally  have  strengthened  our  intimacy. 
And  between  Therese  and  myself  it  did  so.  For  long,  golden 
hours,  the  delights  whereof  I  had  never  so  fully  felt,  we 
would  sit  together  in  the  shade.  She  herself  appeared  to 
enjoy  life  better  than  she  ever  had  before.  She  unreservedly 
opened  her  heart  to  me  and  told  me  things  about  her  mother 
and  the  family,  which  she  had  hitherto  had  firmness  enough 
to  keep  back.  They  had  both  received  from  Madam  Diipin 
multitudes  of  presents  intended  for  me,  but  which  the  old 
shrew,  not  to  anger  me,  had  appropriated  to  her  own  and 
her  children's  use,  without  suffering  Therese  to  have  the 
least  share,  sternly  forbidding  her  to  say  a  word  on  the 
matter  to  me,  an  order  which  the  poor  girl  had  obeyed  with 
incredible  strictness. 

But  a  thmg  that  sm'prised  me  much  more  was  to  learn 
that,  besides  the  private  conversations  Diderot  and  Grimm 
had  frequently  had  with  both,  with  the  view  of  getting  them 
to  leave  me,  a  purpose  that  had  been  thwarted  only  by 
Therese's  determined  opposition,  they  had  both,  smce  then, 
had  frequent  secret  colloquies  with  her  mother,  without  her 
having  been  able  to  get  into  what  they  were  about.  All 
she  knew  was  that  little  presents  had  been  mixed  up  there- 
with, and  that  there  were  mysterious  comings  and  goings, 
the  motive  for  which  she  could  not  penetrate.  When  we  left 
Paris,  Madam  Le  Vasseur  had  long  been  in  the  hal^it  of 
going  and  seeing  M.  Grunm  two  or  three  times  a  month, 
passing  several  hours  in  secret  conversation  with  him,  durmg 
which  the  footman  was  always  sent  out. 

I  judged  that  the  motive  that  lay  at  the  bottom  of  all 
this  was  no  other  than  the  project  to  which  they  had  al- 
ready tried  to  get  the  daughter  to  accede,  promising  to  pro- 
cure them,  through  Madam  d'Epinay,  a  salt-license,  a 
tobacco  shop  or  what  not — tempting  them,  in  a  word,  by  the 
allurement  of  gain.  They  had  been  told  that  it  was  out  of 
my  power  to  do  anything  for  them,  and  that,  hampered  by 
them,  I  could  not  do  anything  for  myself.  Seeing  nothing 
in  all  this  but  good  intention,  I  was  not  to  say  displeased 
with  them  on  account  thereof  The  mystery  was  the  only 
thing  that  offended  me,  especially  on  the  part  of  the  old 
woman,  who,  besides,  was  growing  daily  more  sucking  and 


158  ROUSSEAU'S  CONFESSIONS. 

wheedling  with  me,  though  this  did  not  prevent  her  from 
eternally  reproachmg  her  daughter  in  private  with  loving  me 
too  much,  accusing  her  of  telUng  me  everythmg,  assm'ing  her 
that  she  was  no  Ijetter  than  an  ass,  and  that  she  would  suffer 

for  her  foUv. 

This  woman  possessed  in  a  supreme  degree  the  knack  of 
getting  ten  grists  from  one  sack,  of  conceaUng  from  one 
what  she  received  from  another,  and  from  me  what  she 
received  from  all.     I  might  have  forgiven  her  avarice,  but  I 
could   not   pardou    her   dissimulation.      What   could_  she 
possibly  have  to  conceal  from  me,  from  me  whose  happiness 
she  so  well  knew  to  be  mainly  bound  up  in  her  daughter's 
and  her  own  ?     What  I  had  done  for  her  daughter  I  had 
done  for  myself  ;  but  what  I   had  done  for  her  deserved 
some  acknowledgment  on  her  part— she  ought  at  least  to 
have  been  thankful  to  her  daughter,  and  have  loved  me  for  the 
sake  of  her  who  loved  me.     I  had  raised  her  from  the  most 
abject  want,  she  was  indebted  to  me  for  her  support  and 
owed  me  all  the  acquaintances  she  turned  to  so  good  an 
account.   Therese  had  long  supported  her  by  the  labor  of  her 
own  hands  and  now  maintained  her  at  my  expense.     To 
this  daughter,  for  whom  she  had  done  nothing,  she  was  m- 
debted  for  everything  ;  and  her  children,  to  whom  she  had 
given  marriage  portions,  on  whose  account  she  had  ruined 
herself,    instead  of  helping  to  sustain  her,   devoured  her 
substance,  devoured  mine.     Thus  situated  it  seemed  to  me 
that  she  ought  surely  to  look  on  me  as  her  sole  friend  and 
surest  protector,  and  in  place  of  making  my  own  affairs  a 
secret  to  me,  and  conspiring  against  me  in  my  own  house, 
should  have  faithfully  acquainted  me  with  every  thing  that 
mio-ht  interest  me,   if  anything  came  to   her   knowledge 
before  it  did  to  mine.     In  what  light,  therefore,  could  I 
look  on  her  duplex  and  mvsterious  conduct  ?     AVhat  especi- 
allv  could  I  think  of  the'sentiments  she  labored  so  hard  to 
instill  into  her   daughter  ?     What   monstrous  ingratitude 
must  have  been  her's,  in  thus  seeking  to  infuse  the  vile 
poison  into  her  own  daughter  !  . 

These  various  reflections  at  last  alienated  my  affections 
from  this  woman,  and  alienated  them  to  such  a  degree  that 
I  could  no  longer  look  on  her  but  with  disdain.  Neverthe- 
less I  never  ceased  to  treat  with  respect  the  mother  of  my 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  IX.       1156.  159 

bosom's  friend,  treating  her  in  everything  with  all  but  the 
reverence  of  a  son  ;  but  I  must  confess  I  could  never  bring 
myself  to  remain  long  with  her,  and  it  is  not  in  me  to  bear 
much  in  the  way  of  constraint. 

Here  again  was  one  of  the  brief  seasons  of  my  life 
when  the  cup  of  happiness  was  brought  close  to  my  lips 
only  to  be  dashed  away  therefrom,  dashed  away  by  no 
fault  of  mine.  Had  the  mother  been  an  agreeable  temper- 
ed body,  we  might,  the  three  of  us,  have  lived  happily  till 
the  end  of  our  days, — the  last  survivor  alone  had  been  ta 
be  pitied.  How  it  did  turn  out  the  reader  will  soon  see, 
from  the  course  of  things,  and  he  shall  judge  whe.^-Jier  it 
was  in  my  power  to  change  it. 

Madam  Le  Yasseur,  perceiving  that  I  had  gained 
ground  in  her  daughter's  affections,  while  she  had  lost,  beat 
all  her  energies  to  recovering  this  ground  ;  but  in  place  of 
striving  to  restore  herself  to  my  good  opinion  by  the 
mediation  of  her  daughter,  she  attempted  to  alienate  her 
from  me  altogether.  One  of  the  means  she  employed  was 
to  call  in  the  aid  of  her  family.  I  had  begged  Therese  not 
to  invite  any  of  her  relatives  to  the  Hermitage,  and  she 
promised  she  would  not.  In  my  absence,  however  the 
mother  sent  for  them  without  consulting  her  ;  and  then  made 
her  promise  she  would  not  say  anything  about  it  to  me. 
The  first  step  taken,  all  the  rest  was  easy  :  for  when  once 
we  have  made  a  secret  of  some  one  thing  to  the  person  we 
love,  we  soon  scruple  little  to  do  it  in  every  thing.  I  could 
not  take  a  trip  to  La  Chevrette,  but  instantly  the  Hermitage 
filled  with  people  that  managed  to  amuse  themselves  pretty 
well.  A  mother  has  always  great  power  over  a  well-dis- 
posed daughter  ;  and  yet,  with  all  her  wiles,  the  old  woman 
could  never  persuade  Therese  to  enter  into  her  views  nor 
get  her  to  join  the  league  against  me.  For  her  part  she 
made  up  her  mind  for  ever  ;  and  seeing,  on  one  hand,  her 
daughter  and  myself,  with  whom  a  bare  subsistence  was 
possible,  and  notiiing  more  ;  and  on  the  other,  Diderot, 
Grimm,  d'Holbach,  Madam  d'Epinay,  who  promised  largely 
and  gave  her  some  little  trifles  she  esteemed,  there  was  no 
possibility  of  her  being  in  the  wrong,  seeing  she  acted  in 
concert  with  a  baron  and  the  wife  of  a  Fcrmicr  general. 
Had  I  been  more  clear-sighted,  I  should  have  perceived 


160  Rousseau's  confessions 

that  I  was  nourishing  a  serpent  in  my  bosom  :  but  my 
blind  confidence,  as  yet  quite  undamped,  was  such  that  I 
could  not  even  imagine  it  possible  to  wish  to  harm  one  we 
should  love.  Wliile  I  saw  a  thousand  plots  springing  up 
against  me  on  every  hand,  there  was  nothing  I  could 
positively  complain  of  but  of  the  tyranny  of  those  who 
called  themselves  my  friends,  and  who,  as  it  seemed  to  me, 
wished  to  force  me  to  be  happy  in  their  way  rather  than  iu 
my  own. 

Though  Therese  refused  to  join  in  the  plot  along  with  her 
mother,  y°et  she  afterwards  kept  her  secret.     Her  motive  was 
praisH^orthy  ;  I  shall  not  say  whether  she  did  well  or  iE. 
Two  women  that  have  secrets  between  them  are  fond  of  gos- 
siping together  :  this  brought  them   closer  together  ;  and 
Therlse  by  thus  dividmg  herself,  at  tunes  left  me  to  feel  that 
I  was  alone,  for  I  can  hardly  apply  the  name  of  fellowship 
to  the  relations  that  obtained  between  us  three.     It  was  then 
I  bitterly  realized  how  ^^TOug  I  had  been,  during  our  early 
acquamtance,  m  not  takmg  advantage  of  the  dociUty  with 
which  her  love  inspired  her,  to  cultivate  her  mind.     This 
would  have  drawn  us  more  closely  together  in  our  retire- 
ment, and  by  agreeably  occupying  the  time  of  both  would 
have' obviated  the  wearisomeness  of  the  tete-a-tete.      Not 
that  our  talk  ran  out  or  that  she  seemed  to  grow  tu-ed  of  our 
walks  ;  but  the  fact  is,  we  had  not  ideas  enough  in  common 
to  admit  of  very  much  intercourse  :  we  could  not  be  for  ever 
talking  over  our  plans,  confined  as  they  now  were,  to  enjoy- 
ino-  life.     The  objects  that  presented  themselves  inspired  me 
wfth  reflections  beyond  the  reach  of  her  comprehension.     An 
attachment  of  twelve  year's  standing  had  no  longer  any  need 
of  words  ;  we  knew  each  other  too  well  to  have  anything  new 
to  learn.  '  There  remained  but  jests,  gossiping  and  scandal 
as  a  last  resom-ce.     It  is  above  all  in  sohtude  that  one  feels 
the  advantage  of  living  T\ath  a  person  that  knows  how  to 
think.     I  had  no  need  of  this  to  amuse  myself  with  her,  but 
she  would  have  needed  it  to  enjoy  herself  with  me.     The 
worst  of  it  was  that  we  were  forced  withal  to  have  our  talks 
when  we  got  a  chance  to  :  her  mother  had  become  very 
meddlesome  and  so  I  was  forced  to  watch  my  opportunity. 
I  was  under  constraint  in  my  own  house  ;— what  this  means 
may  readily  be  guessed.     The  air  of  love  was  prejudicial  to 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  IX.       1156.  Ifil 

good  friendship.  We  had  intimate  intercourse  without  liv- 
ing in  intimacy. 

The  momeut  1  thought  I  perceived  that  Therese  now 
and  then  sought  pretexts  for  evading  the  walks  I  proposed, 
I  ceased  asking  her  to  accompany  me,  without  being  dis- 
pleased at  her  for  not  finding  them  as  pleasant  as  I  did. 
Pleasure  is  not  a  thing  under  tfhe  command  of  the  will.  I 
was  sure  of  her  heart — that  was  enough  for  me.  As  long 
as  her  pleasures  were  my  pleasures,  I  enjoyed  them  along 
with  her  ;  when  this  ceased  to  be  the  case,  I  preferred  her 
contentment  to  my  o\yii  satisfaction. 

Thus  it  was  that,  half  thwarted  in  my  hopes,  leading  a 
life  after  my  own  heart,  in  a  home  of  my  own  choice,  with  a 
person  dear  to  me,  it  nevertheless  turned  out  that  I  found 
myself  almost  isolated.  What  I  had  not,  prevented  my  en- 
joying what  I  had.  In  the  matter  of  happiness  and  enjoy- 
ment, I  needed  everything  or  nothing.  Why  this  detail  was 
necessary  will  soon  become  apparent.  Meanwhile  I  resume 
the  thread  of  my  narrative. 

I  imagined  I  had  a  treasm'e  in  the  manuscripts  committed 
to  me  by  Count  Saint-Pierre.  Ou  examining  them,  I  found 
they  were  little  more  than  the  collection  of  his  uncle's  printed 
works,  annotated  and  corrected  by  his  own  hand,  with  certain 
other  little  pieces  that  had  never  appeared.  The  perusal  of 
his  writing  ou  morals  confirmed  me  in  the  opinion  I  had  formed 
from  certain  letters  of  his  that  Madam  de  Crequi  had  showm 
me,  that  he  had  more  genius  than  I  had  at  first  thought ; 
but  a  close  examination  of  his  political  writings  revealed  to 
me  nothing  but  superficial  views  and  useful  but  impracticable 
projects — impracticable  in  consequence  of  an  idea  the  author 
never  succeeded  in  ridding  himself  of,  namely,  that  men  act 
from  reason  rather  than  from  impulse.  The  lofty  opinion  he 
entertained  of  modern  attainments  had  led  him  to  adopt  the 
false  principle  of  perfected  reason  :  this  was  the  basis  of  all 
the  institutions  he  proposed  and  the  spring  of  all  his  political 
sophisms.  This  extraordinary  man,  an  honor  to  his  age  and 
race,  and  perhaps  the  only  being  since  the  creation  of  man- 
kind whose  sole  passion  was  that  of  reason,  did  but  go  from 
eiTor  to  error  in  all  his  systems,  for  persisting  in  regarding 
the  rest  of  mankind  as  like  hunself,  instead  of  taking  men  as 
they  are,  and  ever  will  be.     He  dreamt  he  was  laboring  for 


162  Rousseau's  confessions. 

his  cotemporaries,  wMle  all  the  time  he  was  laboring  only  for 
imaginary  beings. 

All  this  considered,  I  was  rather  embarrassed  as  to  the 
form  I  should  give  my  work.  To  have  let  the  author's 
visionary  views  pass,  would  have  been  to  do  nothing  useful  ; 
to  have  rigorously  refuted  them  would  have  been  unpolite, 
since  the  fact  of  his  manuscripts,  being  entrusted  to  my  care 
(a  trust  I  had  accepted  and  even  requested),  imposed  on  me 
the  obligation  of  treating  the  author  kindly  and  respectfully. 
Finally,  I  pursued  the  course  that  appeared  to  me  the  most 
becoming,  the  most  judicious,  and  the  most  useful,  namely, 
to  present  the  author's  ideas  and  mine  separately,  and  for 
this  purpose,  to  enter  into  his  views,  illustratmg  and  expanding 
them,  and  sparing  nothing  that  might  contribute  to  get  them 
a  full  and  hearty  appreciation. 

My  work  was  thus  composed  of  two  absolutely  distinct 
parts  :  the  one  aiming,  as  I  have  just  said,  at  exhibiting  the 
different  projects  of  the  author  ;  in  the  other,  which  was  not 
to  appear  until  the  first  should  have  produced  its  effect,  I 
was  to  have  given  my  opinion  of  these  projects — a  course 
which,  I  confess,  might  have  exposed  them  to  the  fate  of  the 
sonnet  of  the  Misanthrope.  At  the  head  of  the  whole  work 
was  to  have  been  the  hfe  of  the  author,  for  which  I  had  col- 
lected together  some  very  good  materials,  which  I  flattered 
myself  I  would  not  spoil  in  working  up.  I  had'  seen  a  little 
of  the  Abbe  de  Saint  Pierre  in  his  old  age,  and  the  venera- 
tion in  which  I  held  his  memory  was  a  waiTant  to  me  that 
the  Count  would  have  no  occasion  to  be  dissatisfied  with  the 
manner  in  which  I  should  treat  his  relative. 

I  first  tried  my  hand  on  the  Perpetual  Peace,  the  most 
extensive  and  most  elaborate  work  in  the  collection  ;  and 
before  abandoning  myself  to  my  reflections,  I  had  the  cour- 
age to  read  absolutely  everything  the  Abbd  had  written  on 
this  fine  suljject,  without  once  allowing  myself  to  be  stopped 
by  his  prolixity  or  repetitions.  This  abstract  the  public  has 
seen,  so  I  have  nothing  to  say  about  it.  As  for  my  critique 
thereupon,  it  was  never  printed,  and  I  know  not  if  it  ever 
will  be  ;  however,  it  was  written  at  the  same  time  the  ab- 
stract was  made.  From  this  I  passed  to  the  Polysynodia,  or 
Plurality  of  Councils,  a  work  written  during  the  regency  to 
favor  the  regent's  administration,  and  which  was  the  cause  of 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  IX.       1156.  163 

the  Abbd  de  Saint-Pierre's  being  expelled  the  Academic 
Francaise,  for  certain  hits  at  the  preceding  administration 
that  displeased  the  Duchess  of  Maine  and  Cardinal  Polig- 
nac.  I  went  through  with  this  work  as  I  had  with  the  for- 
mer, including  both  the  abstract  and  my  judgment  thereon  ; 
but  I  stopped  here  and  determined  to  go  no  farther  with  the 
undertaking.     I  ought  never  to  have  begun  it. 

The  reflection  that  led  me  to  throw  up  the  task  so  natu- 
rally presents  itself  that  it  is  astonishing  I  did  not  think  of 
it  sooner.  Most  of  the  Abbe  de  Saint-Pierre's  writings  either 
were,  or  contained  critical  observations  on  one  department 
or  another  of  the  French  government,  and  there  were  even 
several  of  them  so  downright  that  it  was  happy  for  him  that 
he  got  off  scot-free.  The  reason  perhaps  was  that  the  minis- 
try had  always  regarded  the  Abbe  de  Saint-Pierre  as  a  sort 
of  preacher  than  as  a  regular  politician,  and  so  they  let  hun 
talk  away,  it  being  evident  that  nobody  paid  any  attention 
to  what  he  said.  But  it  would  have  been  a  different  thing, 
had  I  succeeded  in  compelling  attention  to  him.  He  w^as  a 
Frenchman,  I  was  not  ;  and  by  repeating  his  censures, 
though  in  his  own  words,  I  exposed  myself  to  being  asked 
rather  bluntly,  though  justly  enough,  what  I  was  meddling 
with.  Happily,  before  proceeding  any  farther,  I  saw  the 
hold  I  was  giving  them  on  me,  and  so,  speedily  got  out  of  it. 
I  realized  that,  living  alone  amid  men,  and  men,  too,  all 
more  powerful  than  myself,  I  never  could,  any  way  whatever, 
shelter  myself  agamst  any  harm  they  might  wish  to  do  me. 
There  was  but  one  thing  I  could  do  :  this  was  to  observe 
such  a  hue  of  conduct  that  if  they  did  wish  to  harm  me,  they 
could  only  do  so  unjustly.  This  principle  led  me  to  abandon 
my  Abbe  de  Saint-Pierre  project,  and  has  since  then  made 
me  give  up  many  another  I  had  much  more  at  heart. 
That  class  of  people  who  are  always  seeking  to  make  a  crime 
of  adversity  would  be  much  surprised  did  they  know  all  the 
pains  I  have  taken  that  I  might  never  deserve  to  have 
it  said  to  me  in  my  misfortune  :    T//ou  hast  wdl  deserved  it. 

This  task  thrown  up,  I  was  for  a  while  uncertain  as  to 
what  I  should  take  up  next,  and  this  interval  of  idleness,  by 
leaving  me  to  turn  my  tlioughts  in  on  myself,  was  the  rum  of 
me.  I  had  no  project  for  the  future,  fitted  agreeably  to  oc- 
cupy my  mind  ;  nay,  it  was  impossible  for  me  even  to  form 


164  Rousseau's  confessions. 

any,  seeing  that  the  situation  I  was  in  was  precisely  the  one 
that  realized  my  everv  desire.  I  had  not  another  wish,  and 
yet  my  heart  was  all  an  aching  void.  This  state  was  all  the 
more  pitiful  in  that  I  saw  nothing  preferable  to  it.  I  had 
fixed  my  tenderest  affections  on  a  Avoman  after  my  heart,  a 
woman  that  had  made  me  a  return  of  hers.  I  lived  with  her 
freely  and  unrestrainedly.  And  yet  a  secret  heart-grief 
never  for  a  moment  left  me,  whether  she  was  present  or  ab- 
sent I  felt  whUe  possessing  her  as  though  I  possessed  her 
not  ;  and  the  mere  idea  that  I  was  not  everything  to  her  had 
the  effect  of  making  her  next  to  nothing  to  me. 

I  had  friends  of  both  sexes,  to  whom  I  was  attached 
by  the  purest  friendship,  and  the  most  perfect  esteem  ;  I 
counting  on  the  most  genuiue  return  thereof  on  their  part, 
and  it  had  never  once  entered  my  head  to  doubt  of  their 
sincerity  :  and  yet  their  obstinacy,  their  very  affectation 
in  opposing  my  every  taste  and  liking  and  way,  made  this 
friendship  more  tormenting  than  it  was  agreeable  :  so  lar 
did  they  go,   that  I  had  but  to  seem  to  desire  a  thing— 
though  that  thing  might  interest  nobody  in  the  world  but 
myself    and   depend  m  no  manner  of  way  on   them,— for 
them  instantly  to  combine   together  to  force  me  to  give  it 
up      This  persistency  in  completely  controlling  me  in  my 
wishes,  all  the  more  unjust  in  that,  far  from   attempting 
to  control  theirs,   I  never  even  made  myself  acquainted 
therewith,  became  at  length   so  cruelly  oppressive  to  me, 
that  I  never  received  a  letter  from  one  of  them  without 
feelino-  a  certain  terror  as  I  opened  it,  a  feehng  but  too 
well  Justified  bv  the  contents.     It  did  seem  to  me  that  to 
be  treated  like  a  child  by  people  younger  than  myselt,  and 
who  themselves  stood  every  one  of  them  m  great  need  ot 
the  advice  they  so  prodigally  lavished  on  me,  was  a  little 
too   much      "  Give  me  your  love,"  said  I  to  them,  "even 
as  I  love  you  ;  and,  for  the  rest,  do  not  meddle  in  my  af- 
fairs any  more  than  I  meddle  in  yours  :  this  is  all  1  ask. 
If  of  these  two  things  they  granted  me  one,  it  was  not 
the  latter,  anv  way. 

I  had  a  retired  residence  in  a  charmmg  solitude,  was 
master  of  my  own  house  and  could  live  as  I  saw  fit,  with- 
out being  controlled  by  anybody.  The  fact  of  my  residence 
here,  however,  imposed  duties  on  me  which,  though  pleas- 


PERIOD  VII.       BOOK  IX.       1756.  165 

inf^  to  perform,  were  yet  binding  and  inevitable.  My  liberty 
was  all  precarious  :  a  greater  slave  than  the  mere  subjec- 
tion to  orders  would  have  made  me,  I  had  to  make  a  slave 
of  my  will.  I  had  not  a  single  day  whereof  I  could  say 
when  I  arose,  "  To-day  I  shall  do  as  I  please."  Nay, 
more,  aside  from  my  dependence  on  the  orders  of  Madam 
d'Epinay,  I  was  exposed  to  the  still  more  disagreeable  im- 
portunities of  the  public  and  of  chance-comers.  My  dis- 
tance from  Paris  did  not  prevent  gangs  of  idlers,  who  did 
not  know  what  to  do  with  their  time,  from  daily  coming 
and  unscrupulously  squandering  mine.  When  least  ex- 
pecting it,  they  would  unmercifully  assail  me,  and  I  rarely 
formed  a  favorite  project  for  spending  the  day  without  its 
being  knocked  up  by  some  caller  or  other. 

la  short,  finding  no  real  enjoyment  even  in  the  midst 
of  the  pleasures  I  had  most  longed  for,  I  returned  by  a 
sudden  mental  leap  to  the  serene  days  of  my  youth,  and 
oft  exclaimed  with  a  sigh,  "  Ah  !  this  is  not  Les  Charmettes 
yet  1 » 

The  reminiscences  of  the  various  periods  of  my  life  led 
me  to  reflect  on  my  situation  and  circumstances  :  I  saw 
myself  already  declining  into  the  vale  of  years,  a  prey  to 
painful  disorders,  the  end  of  my  mortal  career  drawing  nigh, 
as  I  thought,  without  my  having  tasted  in  all  its  plenitude 
scarce  a  single  one  of  the  pleasures  for  which  my  heart  was 
starving,  without  having  attained  to  an  utterance  of  the 
burning  sentiments  I  felt  pent  up  within  me,  and  with- 
out having  tasted,  or  at  least  without  having  realized 
that  intoxicating  delight  [volupte)  the  possibility  whereof  I 
felt  within  my  soul,  and  which,  for  want  of  an  object  on 
which  to  lavish  itself,  was  ever  pent  up,  and  found  vent 
only  in  sighs. 

How  came  it  that,  with  my  naturally  out-reaching  soul, 
to  which  living  was  loving,  I  had  not  as  yet  found  a  friend 
wholly  my  own,  a  friend  worthy  the  name, — I  that  felt  my- 
self so  made  to  be  a  true  friend  ?  How  came  it  that,  with 
such  combustible  senses,  with  a  heart  so  love-possessed,  I 
had  not  once  felt  love's  flame  for  some  definite  object  ? 
Devoured  by  the  desire  of  loving,  without  having  ever  been 
able  rightly  to  satisfy  it,  I  saw  myself  on  the  eve  of  old 
age,  posting  on  to  death  without  having  ever  lived. 


166  Rousseau's  confessions 

These  sad,  though  melting  musings  made  me  fall  back 
on  myself  with  a  regret  that  was  not  without  its  sweet 
satisfactions.  It  seemed  to  me  as  though  Fate  owed 
me  something  I  had  not  yet  got.  To  what  end  was 
I  born  with  exquisite  faculties,  if  they  were  to  be  left  tor 
ever  unemployed  ?  The  consciousness  of  my  inward  worth, 
whilst  it  led  me  to  reaUze  the  injustice  done  me,  made  up 
in  a  sort  therefor  and  caused  me  to  shed  tears  I  loved  to  let 

flow.  -  ,, 

Thus  I  mused  in  June,  the  loveliest  season  ot  the  year, 
'neath  shady  groves,  to  the  nightingale's  song  and  the  bab- 
blings of  the  brooks.     All  around  conspired  to  replunge 
me  fnto  that  all  too  seductive  mollesse,  whereto  I  was  born, 
but   from   which   my   austerity,    to   which    a   long-lastmg 
enthusiasm  had  raised  me,  should  for  ever  have  delivered  me. 
As  fate  would  have  it,  memory  sallied  back  to  the  dmner 
at  the  chateau  de  Tonne  *  and  my  meeting  with  those  two 
charming  girls  :  'twas  in  this  same  season,  amid  scenes  much 
resembling  those  in  which  I  was  now  placed.     This  recol- 
lection   endeared   by  the  innocence  that  accompanied  it, 
brought  others   the  like   to  my  mind.     Soon  there  came 
troopino-  around  me  the  various  beings  that  had  called  up 
emotion^in  my  young  heart  :  Mile.  Galley,  Mile,  de  Graflfen- 
ried.  Mile,  de  Breil,  Madam  Bazile,  Madam  de  Larnage,  my 
pretty  pupils,  ay,  even  the  piquant  Zulietta,  whom  my  heart 
could  ne'er  forget.  I  beheld  myself  surrounded  by  a  seraglio 
of  houris,  made  up  of  my  old  acquaintances,  beings  for  whom 
the  liveliest  incliaation  was  no  new  sentiment.     My  blood 
burns  and  bounds,  my  head  becomes  turned,  maugre  its  beuig 
sprinkled  with  grey,  and  lo,  the  grave  citizen  of  Geneva,  the 
austere  Jean  Jacques,  bordering  on  five-and-forty,  all  of  a 
sudden  moon-struck  and  love-lorn  1     The  intoxication  that 
now  possessed  me,  though  so  sudden  and  extravagant,  was 
nevertheless  so  powerful  and  so  lasting  that,  to  cure  me  no- 
thing less  than  the  unforeseen  and  terrible  crisis  it  brought  on 
was  necessary. 

This  intoxication,  how  far  soever  it  went,  did  not   yet 

go  so  far  as  to  make  me  forget  my  age  and  situation,  to 

flatter  me  that  I   might  still  inspire  love,   or  lead  me  to 

attempt  communicating  to  some  other  heart  the  devounug, 

*Vol.   1.  Book  IV.     Tr. 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  IX.      l*lbQ.  167 

though  sterile  fire  that  had  from  youth  in  vain  consumed 
my  heart.  I  did  not  hope,  nay,  I  did  not  desire  it,  I  knew  the 
time  for  love  was  past  ;  I  was  too  keenly  alive  to  the  ridiculo- 
sity  of  a  superannuated  gallant  ever  to  become  one,  and  I 
was  not  the  man  to  grow  a  confident  coxcomb  in  the  decline 
of  life,  after  being  so  much  the  opposite  in  the  flower  and  flush 
of  youth.  Besides,  as  a  lover  of  peace,  I  should  have  had 
too  great  a  dread  of  domestic  storms,  and  I  loved  Therese  too 
truly  to  expose  her  to  the  mortification  of  seeing  me  entertain 
profounder  sentiments  for  others  than  those  she  inspired. 

Thus  situated,  what  think  you  I  did  ?  Even  now  the 
reader  must  have  divined  what,  if  he  has  in  the  least  follow- 
ed my  unfoldings.  The  impossibility  of  possessing  real 
beings  drove  me  into  the  land  of  ideals  ;  and  seeing 
naught  in  existence  worthy  my  high-wrought  fantasy,  I 
found  food  for  it  in  an  ideal  world — a  world  my  creative 
imagination  soon  peopled  with  beings  after  my  heart.  This 
resource  never  came  more  fittingly,  and  never  was  it  more 
fecund.  In  my  continual  ecstasy,  I  grew  drunk  on  steep- 
down  draughts  of  the  most  delicious  sentiments  that  ever 
entered  the  heart  of  man.  Totally  forgetting  the  human 
species,  I  made  me  societies  of  perfect  creatures,  as  celestial 
from  their  virtue  as  their  beauty  ;  and  of  firm,  tender  and 
faithful  friends  the  like  whereof  was  never  seen  on  earth. 
So  ravishing  did  it  become  thus  to  soar  in  the  empyrean, 
amid  the  charming  objects  that  surrounded  me,  that  I  pass- 
ed whole  hours  and  days  therein  without  perceiving  it  ; 
and,  losing  the  recollection  of  everything  else,  I  could 
scarce  snatch  time  to  take  a  hasty  bite,  so  did  I  burn  to 
escape  to  my  woods.  When  I  saw  some  luckless  mortal  or 
other  come  to  detain  me  on  earth  whilst  preparing  to 
take  flight  to  my  enchanted  world,  I  could  neither  moderate 
nor  conceal  my  vexation  ;  and  no  longer  master  of  myself, 
1  received  him  so  roughly  that  I  might  have  been  called 
brutal.  This  but  augmented  my  reputation  for  misanthropy, 
wherea-s  could  they  but  have  read  me  truly,  this  and  all 
my  other  denotements  would  have  shown  them  that  I  was  a 
very  different  man,  and  have  given  me  a  very  different 
reputation. 

At  the  height  of  my  loftiest  flight,  I  was  suddenly  pulled 
down  like  a  paper  kite,  and  brought  back  by  nature  and  a 


168  Rousseau's  confessions. 

rather  severe  attack  of  my  malady  to  my  own  place.  I  re- 
curred to  the  only  remedy  that  had  given  me  any  relief, 
namely,  my  bougies,  and  this  brought  a  sudden-let  up  to  my 
ano-elic  loves  ;  for,  aside  from  the  fact  that  one  is  not  very 
apt  to  be  in  love  when  suffering  pain,  my  imagination  which 
sprino-s  to  life  in  the  country  and  the  woods,  languishes  and 
dies  in  a  chamber,  or  under  the  joists  of  a  ceiling.  I  have 
often  regretted  the  non-existence  of  Dryads  :  I  should 
surely  have  become  so  fascinated  with  them  that  I  would 
have  forsaken  the  haunts  of  men  forever. 

Other  domestic  broils  came  at  the  same  time  to  aug- 
ment my  chagrin.     Madam  Le  Vasseur,  while  lavishing  the 
finest  compliments  in  the  world  on  me,  did  all  she  could  to 
alienate  her  daughter  from  me.     I  received  several  letters 
from  my  old  neighborhood,  informing  me  that  the  kind  oia 
lady  had  contracted  various  debts  in  the  name  of  Therese, 
who  was  aware  thereof,  but  had  said  nothing  about  it  to  me. 
The  having  to  pay  the  debts  hurt  me  much  less  than  her 
havino-  kept  it  a  secret  from  me.     Ah  !  how  could  she 
from  whom  I  concealed  naught,  have  any  secrets  ^:Lth  me  ? 
Is  then,  dissimulation  compatible  with  love?   TheHolbach 
coterie  seeing  that  I  never  took  any  trips  to  Pans,  began 
in  earnest  to  fear  that  I  really  did  like  the  country,  and 
that  I  would  be  madman  enough  to  remain.      ihus  com- 
menced the  schemes  whereby  they  indirectly  attempted  to 
ffet  me  back  to  the  city.     Diderot,  unwilhng  so  soon  to 
show  himself  in  his  true  colors,  began  by  depriving  me  of 
Deleyre,  whom  I  had  made  him  acquainted  with,  and  who 
received  and  transmitted  to  me  whatever  impression  Diderot 
chose  to  give  him,  without  his  (Deleyre's)  suspecting  what 

he  was  driving  at.  .  c  r  n 

\  Evervthing  seemed  conspiring  to  draw  me  from  my  ias- 
•  cinating  but  mad  reverie.  I  had  not  recovered  ft-om  my  at- 
tack when  I  received  a  copy  of  the  poem  of  the  Destruc  ion 
of  Lisbon,'*  which  I  suppose  was  sent  me  by  the  author. 
This  made  it  necessary  for  me  to  write  to  him  and  speak 
of  the  poem.  This  I  did  in  a  letter  that  was  printed  long 
afterwards  without  my  consent,  as  will  appear  hereatter. 

Struck  at  seeing  this  poor  man,   overwhe  med,    so  to 
speak,  with  prosperity  and  glory,  eternally  declaiming  most 

*  Voltaire.     Tr. 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  IX.      1156.  169 

bitterly  against  the  miseries  of  life,  and  constantly  looking 
at  everything  with  a  jaundiced  eye,  I  got  into  my  head  the 
insane  idea  of  inducing  him  to  enter  within  himself,  and 
proving  to  him  that  everytliing  was  good.  Voltaire,  while 
constantly  appearing  to  believe  in  God,  never  really  be- 
lieved in  anything  but  the  devil  ;  for  his  pretended  God  is 
nothing  but  a  malevolent  being  who,  according  to  him,  de- 
lights in  naught  but  evil-doing.  The  glaring  absurdity  of 
this  doctrine  is  specially  revolting  in  a  man  loaded  with 
every  sort  of  blessing,  who,  while  revehng  in  happiness,  en- 
deavored to  strike  his  fellows  with  despair  by  the  frightful 
image  of  universal  calamity,  calamity  from  which  he  is 
himself  wholly  exempt.  I,  that  had  a  better  right  thau 
he  to  calculate  and  weigh  the  evils  of  human  life,  made  an 
impartial  examination  thereof,  and  proved  to  him  that  there 
was  not  one  of  them  all  from  which  Providence  was  not 
cleared,  not  a  single  one  that  had  not  its  origin  in  the  abuse 
man  has  made  of  his  fjiculties,  rather  than  in  nature.  I 
treated  him,  in  this  letter;  "with  the  utmost  regard,  consid- 
eration and  delicacy,  with  all  possible  respect  I  can  truly 
say.  However,  knowing  the  extreme  irritability  of  his 
self-love,  I  did  not  send  this  letter  to  himself,  but  to  Dr. 
Tronchin,  his  friend  and  physician,  with  full  power  either  to 
give  or  suppress  it,  according  as  he  might  think  proper. 
Tronchin  gave  the  letter.  Yoltaire  sent  me  a  few  words  in 
reply  stating  that,  being  both  sick  himself,  and  having 
charge  of  a  sick  person,  he  would  put  off"  his  answer  until 
some  future  day,  and  said  not  a  word  upon  the  subject. 
Tronchin,  on  sending  me  this  letter,  enclosed  me  one, 
wherein-  he  expressed  no  great  esteem  for  the  person  from 
whom  he  had  received  the  epistle. 

I  have  never  published  these  two  letters,  nor  even 
shown  them  to  anybody,  having  no  great  taste  for  making 
a  parade  of  that  sort  of  little  triumph  ;  but  the  originals 
will  be  found  in  my  collections  (File  A,  Nos.  20  and  21.) 
Subsequently  Voltaire  published  the  reply  he  promised,  but 
never  sent  me.  This  is  none  other  than  the  novel  of 
Candide,  of  which  I  cannot  speak,  as  I  have  never  read  it. 

These  various  interruptions  might  well  have  radically 
cured  me  of  my  fantastic  amours,  and  they  were,  it  may  be, 
a  means  heaven  offered  me  for  preventing  their  fatal  effects; 
II.  8 


1*70  Rousseau's  confessions. 

but  my  evil  genius  prevailed,  and  I  liad  scarce  begun  to  get 
abroad  again  before  my  heart,  my  head,  and  my  feet  all 
took  the  same  direction.  I  say  the  same,  that  is  m  certam 
respects  ;  for  my  ideas,  somewhat  less  exalted,  remained  on 
earth  this  time,  but  with  so  exquisite  a  choice  of  whatever 
of  every  sort  was  lovely  and  loveable,  that  this  elite  was 
scarce  a  whit  less  fanciful  than  the  imaginary  world  I  had 
abandoned. 

I  figured  love  and  friendsMp,  the  twin  idols  of  my  heart, 
under  the  most  ravishing  images.  I  took  delight  in  adornmg 
them  with  every  charm  of  that  sex  I  had  ever  adored.  I  imag- 
ined two  female,  rather  than  male  friends,  because  if  the  exam- 
ple is  rarer,  it  is  also  more  lovely.  I  endowed  them  with 
kindred,  though  different  dispositions  ;  with  figures  which, 
though  not  perfect,  were  to  my  taste,  anhnated  by  kindness 
and  sensibility.  I  made  the  one  a  blonde  and  the  other  a 
brunette,  one  lively  and  the  other  languishing,  the  one  wise 
and  the  other  weak,  but  of  so  touching  a  weakness  that  it 
seemed  to  heighten  even  vu'tue.  To  one  of  them  I  gave  a 
lover,  of  whom  the  other  was  the  tender  friend,  and  even 
something  more  ;  but  I  admitted  neither  rivaliy,  quarrelmg 
nor  jealousy,  as  every  thmg  in  the  way  of  antagonistic  senti- 
ment is  painful  for  me  to  imagine,  and  as  I  was  unwiUmg  to 
blur  the  smiUng  picture  by  aught  degrading  to  nature.  Smi^ 
ten  by  my  two  charming  models,  I  drew  the  lover  and  friend 
as  far  as  possible  after  myself,  but  I  made  him  amialile  and 
young,  giving  him,  in  addition,  the  vu'tues  and  the  vices  I 
felt  were  mme.  . 

For  the  purpose  of  locating  my  characters  m  a  fitting 
scene,  I  called  to  mind  successively  the  most,  beautiful  spots 
I  had  seen  on  my  travels.  But  no  grove  could  I  find  fair 
enough,  no  landscape  did  memory  bring  up  that  would  satisfy. 
The  valleys  of  Thes_salj  might  have  done  me  had  I  ever  seen 
them  •  but  my  imagination,  fatigued  with  invention,  craved 
some  real  spot  to  serve  as  a  resting  point  and  produce  an  il- 
lusion in  my  muid  as  to  the  reality  of  the  dwellers  I  was  to 
place  thereon.  I  thought  for  a  long  while  of  the  Boromean 
isles,  the  delicious  aspect  of  which  had  transported  me  ;  but 
i  thought  there  was  too  much  art  and  ornament  about 
them  for  my  personages.  I  could  not  do  without  a  lake, 
however  •  so  I  at  last  made  choice  of  the  one  around  which 


PERIOD  n.     BOOK  rx.     1156.  171 

my  heart  has  never  ceased  to  wander.  I  fixed  on  that  part 
of  the  banks  of  this  lake  where,  m  my  imaginary  schemes  of 
happiness — and  they  have  all  been  imnginary — I  had  all  my 
hfe  desired  to  settle  down.  The  birth-place  of  mj^^jD.or 
Maman  had  still  an  attraction  beyond  all  others  for  me. 
The  contrast  of  situation,  the  richness  and  variety  of  site, 
the  magnificence  and  majesty  of  the  whole,  ravishing  the 
senses,  affecting  the  heart  and  elevating  the  soul,  came  in  to 
determine  me,  and  I  fixed  my  young  pupils  atiYevay.  This 
is  all  I  imagined. at  the  first  start ;  the  rest  was  not  added 
till  afterwards.  »»'     /  ")  p 

For  a  long  time,  I  confined  myself  to  this  plan,  Vague  as 
it  was,  as  it  sufficed  to  fill  my  imagination  with  agreeable 
objects,  and  my  heart  with  sentiments  it  loves  to  feed  on. 
These  fictions,  returnmg  again  and  again,  acquired  at  length 
additional  body  and  fixed  themselves  in  my  brain  with  deter- 
mmed  force.  'Twas  then  the  fancy  took  me  to  express  on 
paper  some  of  the  scenes  that  presented  themselves,  and,  by 
recaUing  all  I  had  felt  in  my  youth,  thus,  m  a  sort,  to  give 
play  to  the  desu-e  of  loving,  which  I  had  not  been  able  to 
satisfy  and  by  which  I  was  devoured. 

I  first  committed  to  paper  a  few  scattered  letters  without 
sequence  or  connection  ;  and  when  I  came  to  tack  them  to- 
gether, I  was  often  a  good  deal  embarrassed.  It  is  scarcely 
credible,  but  strictly  true,  that  almost  the  whole  of  the  two 
first  parts  were  written  in  this  way,  without  my  having  any  de- 
termined plan,  not  even  foreseemg,  indeed,  that  I  should  one 
day  be  tempted  to  make  a  regular  work  of  it.  And  so  it 
must  be  evident  that  these  two  parts,  made  up  afterwards  of 
materials  not  blocked  out  for  the  place  they  occupy,  are  full 
of  verbiage  ;  this  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  others. 

At  the  height  of  my  reveries,  I  had  a  visit  from  Ma- 
dam d'Houdetot— the  first  she  made  me  in  her  life,  but 
which  unfortunately  was  not  the  last,  as  will  hereafter  ap- 
pear. The  Countess  d'Houdetot  was  a  daughter  of  the 
late  M.  de  Bellegarde,  Fermier-general,  and  "sister  to  M. 
d'Epinay  and  Messieurs  de  Lalive  and  de  La  Briche,  both 
of  whom  have  since  been  Masters  of  the  Ceremonies.  I 
have  alluded  to  my  having  made  her  acquaintance  previous 
to  her  marriage.  Since  then  I  had  not  seen  her  except 
at   the  fetes  of  La  Chevrette,  with  Madam  d'Epinay,  her 


1<J2  KOUSSKAU'S  CONFESSIONS. 

sister-in-law.  Having  often  passed  several  days  with  her 
both  at  La  Chevrette  and  at  Epinay,  I  not  only  always 
found  her  amiable,  but  I  thought  she  seemed  to  feel  kmdly 
towards  me.  She  was  fond  of  walking  with  me  we  were  . 
both  good  walkers,  and  our  talk  was  mex^iaustible.  How- 
ever I  never  went  to  see  her  while  m  Pans,  though  she 
had  on  various  occasions  requested,  and  even  solicited  me 
to  do  so.  Her  connection  with  M.  de  Saint-Lambert,  w  th 
whom  I  was  beginning  to  be  intimate,  rendered  her  still 
Ce  interesting"  to  me  ;  and  it  was  to  bring  me  news  of 
this  friend,  then,  I  think,  at  Mahon,  that  she  came  to  see 
me  at  .the  Hermitage. 

r"  This  visit  had  something  of  the  appearance  of  the  out- 
Iset  of  a  romance.     She  lost  her  way.     The  coachman  m- 
'Stead  of  turning  off,  attempted  to  pass  straight  on  from 
the  mill  of  Clairvaux  to  the  Hermitage  :  her  carriage  stuck 
n  a  quagmire  in  the  middle  of  the  valley,  so  she  determined 
to  get  out  and  walk  the  rest  of  the  way      Her  dehcate 
foot  gear  was  soon  worn  through  ;  she  sank  into  the  mue; 
her  people  had  the  utmost  difficulty  in  extricating  her,  apd 
at  leno-th  she  arrived  at  the  Hermitage,  booted,  and  mak- 
ing the  air  resound  with  her  shouts  of  laughter  in  which 
I  heartily  joined   on   seeing  her   come   up.     She  had  to 
change  her  whole  dress  ;  Therese  provided  her  with  what 
was  necessary,  and  I  prevailed  upon  her  to  forego  her  dig- 
nity and  partake  of  a  rustic  collation,   which  she  hugely 
enioved      It  was  late,  so   she  remained  but  a  short  while  ; 
but   the  meeting  was  so  mirthful  that  she  was  very  much 
pleased,   and   seemed   disposed  to   return.     ^Ije   did   no  , 
however,  put  this   project   into  execution  ;  but,  alas  !  this 
delay  was  no  safe-guard  for  me. 

I  passed  the  autumn  at  an  employment  I  would  not 
be  very  likely  to  be  suspected  of-guarding  M^  d'Epinay  s 
fruit  The  Hermitage  was  the  reservoir  of  the  water  of 
the  Chevrette  park.  Here  there  was  a  garden,  walled 
round  and  planted  with  espaliers  and  other  trees  that 
yielded  M.  d'Epinay  more  fruit  than  his  kitchen-garden  at 
La  Chevrette,  though  three-fourths  of  it  was  stolen,  ^ot 
to  be  an  absolutely  useless  tenant,  I  took  upon  me  the 
diction  of  the  garden  and  the  inspection  of  the  gardener. 
All  went  well  till  fruit  time  ;  but  in  proportion  as  it  ripened, 


PERIOD  ir.     BOOK  IX.     1756.  lis 

I  saw  it  disappear,  without  my  being  able  to  tell  what  be- 
came of  it.  The  gardener  assured  me  that  it  was  the 
dormice  that  eat  it  all.  I  made  war  on  the  dormice, 
destroying  a  great  many  of  them  ;  yet  still  not  a  whit  less 
the  fruit  disappeared.  I  watched  so  narrowly  that  I  at 
last  discovered  he  was  the  grand  chief  '  dormouse.'  He 
stayed  at  Montmorency,  whence  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
coming  along  with  his  wife  and  children,  and  carrying  off 
the  fruit  they  had  collected  during  the  day,  and  which  he 
sent  to  be  sold  in  the  market  at  Paris  as  publicly  as  though 
he  had  owned  a  garden  himself.  This  wretch,  whom  I 
loaded  with  kindness,  whose  children  Therese  clothed  and 
whose  father,  a  beggar,  I  all  but  supported,  rifled  us  with 
as  much  ease  as  impudence,  none  of  the  three  of  us  being 
vigilant  enough  to  prevent  him,  and  in  one  night  he  succeeded 
in  emptying  my  cellar,  where  I  found  nothing  next  morn- 
ing. As  long  as  he  confined  his  depredations  to  myself, 
I  put  up  with  everything  ;  but  being  desirous  of  giving  an 
account  of  the  fruit,  I  was  obliged  to  denounce  the  thief. ' 
Madame  d'Epinay  asked  me  to  pay  him,  send  him  about 
his  business  and  procure  another  man,  which  I  did.  As 
this  scoundrel  kept  ranging  around  the  Hermitage  at  night, 
armed  with  a  thick  iron-tipped  stick  that  looked  very  much 
like  a  club  and  accompanied  by  a  set  of  worthless  rascals  like 
himself,  to  reassure  the  '  Governesses,'  who  were  dreadfully 
frightened  of  the  man,  I  had  his  successor  sleep  every 
niglit  at  the  Hermitage  ;  and  this  not  being  sufficient  to 
tranquiiize  them,  I  sent  and  asked  Madam  d'Epinay  for  a 
gun  which  I  kept  in  the  gardener's  room,  charging  him  not 
to  use  it  except  in  case  of  necessity,  if  they  should  attempt 
to  force  the  door  or  scale  the  garden  wall,  and  to  fire  only 
a  blank  charge,  simply  to  frighten  the  thieves.  This  was 
assuredly  the  least  precaution  a  half-sick  man,  having  to 
pass  the  winter  in  the  midst  of  a  wood,  alone  with  two 
timid  women,  could  do  for  the  common  safety.  Lastly,  I 
made  the  acquisition  of  a  little  dog  to  serve  as  a  sentinel. 
Deleyre  having  come  to  see  me  about  this  time,  I  told  him 
my  story,  and  we  had  a  good  laugh  together  over  my 
military  array.  On  returning  to  Paris,  to  amuse  Diderot  he 
told  him  the  story  in  his  turn,  and  thus  it  was  that  the 
Holbach  coterie  came  to  learn  that  I  was  in  good  earnest 


174  KOUSSEAU'S  COXFESSIONS. 

going  to  pass  the  winter  at  the  Hermitage.  This  con- 
stancy, whereof  they  had  not  imagined  me  capable,  quite 
put  them  out  ;  and  until  they  could  conjure  up  some  other 
shift  to  render  my  stay  unpleasant,  *  they,  through  Diderot, 
let  loose  this  same  Deleyre  on  me,  who,  though  he  had  at 
first  thought  my  precautions  but  natural,  now  pretended  to 
discover  that  they  were  inconsistent  with  my  principles  and 
styled  them  '  more  than  ridiculous,'  in  the  letters  wherein 
he  deluged  me  with  pleasantries,  bitter  and  satirical  enough 
to  have  offended  me,  had  I  been  the  least  disposed  to  take 
offence.  But  being  at  the  time  saturated  with  tender  and 
melting  sentiments,  and  susceptible  of  no  others,  I  per- 
ceived in  his  biting  sarcasms  nothing  but  a  good  joke  and 
believed  him  simply  funning  when  anybody  else  would  have 
thought  him  extravagant  in  the  lengths  he  went  to. 

By  dint  of  watchfulness  and  care  I  guarded  the  garden 
so  well  that,  although  the  fruit-crop  was  exceeding  scanty 
that  year,  the  produce  was  triple  that  of  preceding  years. 
-'Tis  true,  though,  I  spared  no  pains  to  preserve  it,  even  to 
escorting  the  lots  dispatched  to  La  Chevrette  and  to 
d'Epinay,  and  carrying  baskets  full  myself.  I  remember 
the  'Aunt '  and  myself  carried  one  between  us  that  was  so 
heavy  that  we  were  ready  to  drop  down  with  the  weight  of 
it,  and  we  had  to  stop  and  rest  every  dozen  steps.  We  ar- 
rived at  last,  but  in  a  terrible  sweat. 

(1757.)  As  soon  as  the  bad  weather  began  to  confine 
me  to  the  house,  I  tried  to  take  up  my  regular  round  of 
house-employments.  I  could  not  doit.  Wherever  I  looked 
I  could  see  nothing  but  the  two  charming  ainies,  their  friend, 
their  surroundings,  the  country  they  inhabited,  and  the  ob- 
jects my  imagination  created  or  embellished  for  them.  I  was 
no  longer  myself  for  a  moment  ;  my  delirium  never  left  me. 
After  many  useless  efforts  to  banish  these  fictions  from  my 
mind,  they  at  length  demonically  took  possession  of  me,  and 

*  I  wonder  at  my  stupidity,  now  that  I  come  to  read  this  over,  in 
not  seeing,  when  I  wrote  this,  that  the  spite  of  the  Holbachians  at  see- 
ing me  go  and  remain  in  the  country  chiefly  regarded  mother  Le  A'asseur, 
whom  they  had  no  longer  at  liand  to  guide  them  in  their  system  of 
imposture  hj'  fixed  data  of  time  and  place.  This  idea,  which  occurs  to 
me  so  late,  perfectly  explains  the  bizarrerie  of  their  conduct,  which 
under  any  other  supposition,  is  inexplicable 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  IX.       lT5t.  175 

my  future  endeavors  were  confined  to  attempting  to  <rive 
them  some  sort  of  order  and  sequence,  so  as  to  make  them 
up  into  a  kind  of  romance. 

My  g-rand  embarrassment  was  the  shame  I  felt  at  so 
flatly  and  openly  giving  the  lie  to  all  my  professions.  After 
the  severe  principles  I  had  just  been  laying  down  with  so 
much  fuss,  after  the  austere  maxims  I  had  so  loudly  preach- 
ed, after  so  many  biting  invectives  against  your  namby- 
pamby  romances,  redolent  with  love  and  effeminacy,  could 
there  be  anything  more  terribly  absurd  than  for  me  all  of  a 
sudden  to  go  and  with  my  own  hand  write  my  name  in  the 
list  of  authors  of  those  very  books  I  had  so  severely  cen- 
sured ?  I  felt  the  completeness  of  the  incongruity  in  all  its 
force,  I  reproached  myself  therewith,  was  ashamed  and 
vexed  thereat  ;  but  all  this  could  not  bring  me  back  to 
reason.  Completely  overcome,  I  had  to  submit  at  all  hazard 
and  resolve  to  brave  the  scoffs  and  sneers  of  the  world. 
Only,  I  afterwards  deliberated  whether  or  no  I  should 
show  my  work  ;  for  I  had  as  yet  no  idea  of  ever  publishing 
it. 

This  course  determined  on,  I  gave  loose  rein  to  my  reve- 
ries ;  and  by  dint  of  turning  and  returning  tliem  in  my  head, 
I  at  last  evolved  the  species  of  plan,  the  execution  whereof 
the  public  has  seen.  This  was  certainly  the  most  useful  ac- 
count to  which  I  could  have  turned  my  mania  ;  the  love  of 
the  good,  that  has  ever  possessed  my  heart,  directed  it  towards 
useful  objects,  and  the  moral  was  calculated  to  produce  a 
beneficial  effect.  My  voluptuous  pictures  would  have  lost 
all  their  grace,  had  they  been  devoid  of  the  soft  coloring  of 
innocence.  A  weak  girl  is  an  object  of  pity,  whom  love  may 
render  interesting,  and  who  is  often  none  the  less  amiable  : 
but  who  can  look  without  indignation  on  the  spectacle  pre- 
sented by  fashionable  morals  ?  and  what  is  more  revolting 
than  the  pride  of  a  faithless  wife,  who,  openly  trampling  un- 
der foot  all  her  duties,  pretends  that  her  husband  ought  to  be 
eternally  grateful  to  her  for  the  grace  she  grants  him  in  not 
letting  herself  be  caught  in  the  act.  There  is  no  such  thing 
as  perfect  beings  in  nature,  and  the  lessons  they  teach  are 
not  near  enough  us.  But  let  a  yomig  woman,  born  with  a 
heart  as  tender  as  virtuous,  suffer  herself  to  be  overcome  by 
love  while  a  gh-1,  and  then,  as  a  woman,  recover  strength  suf- 


It6  koussead's  confessions. 

ficient  to  subdue  it  and  again  become  vii'tuous  :  whosoever 
shall  tell  you  that  such  a  picture  in  its  entirety  is  scandalous 
and  useless  is  a  liar  and  a  hypocrite  :  hear  hmi  not. 

Besides  this  morality-aud-conjngal-chastity-object,  which 
lies  at  the  basis  of  all  social  order,  I  had  the  ends  of  concord 
and  public  peace  at  heart — an  object,  greater,  it  may  be, 
and  more  unportant  m  itself,  greater  and  more  important, 
any  way,  for  the  then  state  of  things.     This,  however,  I 
kept  more  of  a  secret.     The  storm  the  Encydopcsdia  raised, 
far  from  going  down,  was  then  at  its  very  height.     The  two 
parties,  let  loose  on  each  other  with  the  utmost  fmy,  looked 
more  Uke  maddened  wolves,  bent  on  tearing  each  other  to 
pieces,  than  Christians  and  philosophers,  aiming  at  mutual 
enhghtenment,  at  convincing,  and  brmgiug  each  other  back 
to  the  ways  of  truth.     Each,  perhaps,  but  wanted  certain 
turbulent  leaders  possessing  more  or  less  credit,  for  it  to  have 
degenerated  into  a  civil  war;  and  God  only  knows  what  would 
have  come  of  an  intestine  religious  war  m  which  the  most 
bitter  intolerance  was  the  anhnating-spirit  of  each  party.    A 
born  enemy  of  all  party-feelmg,  I  had  freely  spoken  many  a 
severe  truth  to  both  sides.     These,  however,  they  had  not 
bgeded  ;  so  I  bethought  me  of  another  expedient,  which  in 
my  simphcity  seemed  admirable  to  me  :  this  was  to  abate 
their  reciprocal  hatred  by  destroying  theu'  mutual  prejudices, 
and  showing  each  side  phases  of  worth  and  virtue  in  the 
other  well  deserving  of  public  esteem  and  the  respect  of  all 
men.     This  project,  not  remarkably  characterized  by  common 
sense,  supposing  as   it  did  sincerity  in  mankmd,  and  thus 
proving  me  guilty  of  the  same  mistake  I  was  charging  the 
Abbe  de  Saint-Pierre  with,  met  with  the  success  that  might 
have  been  expected  of  it  :  it  did  not  reconcile  the  parties, 
and  it  did  bring  them  together,  but  only  to  crush  me.     Be- 
fore experience  had  taught  me  my  folly,  I  went  hito  this  pro- 
ject with  a  zeal  worthy,  I  venture  to  say,  of  the  motive  that 
inspired  it,  and  I  di'ew  the  two  characters  of  Wolmar  and 
Julie  in  an  ecstasy  that  raised  the  hope  of  making  them  both 
lovcable,  nay,  more,  of  having  the  acceptance  of  the  one 
heighten  that  of  the  other. 

Satisfied  with  having  roughly  sketched  my  plan,  I  return- 
ed to  the  elaboration  of  the  scenes  I  had  worked  out  ;  and 
from  the  arrangement  I  gave  them  resul*-ed  the  first  two 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  IX.       1151.  Ill 

parts  of  the  NnuveUe  Ueloise,  which  I  put  into  shape  that 
winter  with  inexpressible  pleasure,  employing  the  finest  gilt- 
edged  paper  on  it,  with  azure-silver  powder  to  dry  the  writ- 
ing, and  blue  ribbon  to  tack  my  sheets  withal  ;  in  a  word,  I 
thought  nothing  chivalric,  nothing  delicate  enough  for  the 
two  charming  girls,  of  whom,  like  another  Pygmalion,  I  be- 
came madly  enamored.  I  used  to  sit  every  evening  by  my 
fire-side,  and  read  and  re-read  these  two  parts  to  the  '  gov- 
ernesses.' The  daughter,  without  saying  a  word,  would  sob 
with  soft,  sad  joy  along  with  me  ;  the  mother,  finding  no 
compUments  in  it  at  all,  understood  nothing  of  the  matter, 
and  so  said  nothing  ;  only  every  now  and  then,  in  moments 
of  silence,  she  would  keep  repeating,  '  Monsieur,  cela  est  Men 
beau — Thafs  very  fine,  sir.' 

Madam  d'Epinay,  uneasy  at  my  being  alone  in  winter  in 
a  lonely  house  in  the  midst  of  woods,  often  sent  to  inquire 
after  my  health.  Never  had  I  such  genuine  proofs  of  her 
friendship  for  me,  and  never  did  mine  respond  more  fully 
thereto.  It  would  be  wrong  were  I  not  to  specify  that, 
among  these  testimonials,  she  sent  me  her  portrait,  at  the 
same  time  requesting  instructions  as  to  how  she  should  pro- 
cure one  of  me  that  was  painted  by  La  Tour,  and  which  had  been 
shown  at  the  Exhibition.  Nor  ought  I  to  omit  another  of 
her  attentions  which,  though  it  may  appear  laughable  in  it- 
self, yet,  from  the  impression  it  produced  on  me,  brings  out  a 
phase  of  my  character.  One  day  when  it  was  freezing  very 
hard,  on  opening  a  package  containing  various  little  matters 
1  had  desired  her  to  purchase  for  me,  I  found  among  the 
rest  a  small  under-petticoat  of  Enghsh  flannel,  which  she  ob- 
served she  had  worn,  and  out  of  which  she  wanted  me  to 
make  me  a  waistcoat.  The  turn  of  her  note  was  charm- 
ing, full  of  the  most  ingenuous  kindness.  This  more  than 
amicable  care  appeared  to  me  so  tender — as  though  she  had 
stripped  herself  to  clothe  me — that  in  my  emotion,  with  tears 
of  joy,  I  kissed  note  and  petticoat  twenty  times  over. 
Therese  thought  I  was  cracked.  It  is  singular  that  of  all  the 
marks  of  friendship  Madam  d'Epinay  lavished  on  me,  none 
ever  so  touched  me  as  this.  Even  since  our  rupture,  I  have 
never  been  able  to  think  of  it  but  with  the  deepest  emotion. 
I  long  preserved  her  little  note,  and  I  should  have  had  it 
II.  6* 


178  Rousseau's  confessions, 

yet,  had  it  not  shared  the  fate  of  my  other  letters  of  the  same 
period.* 

Though  I  had  but  little  respite  from  my  retentions  in 
winter,  and  was  reduced  during  a  part  of  the  present  one 
to  the  use  of  sondes,  it  was  nevertheless,  all  in  all,  the 
calmest  and  pleasantest  season  I  had  passed  since  my  re- 
sidence in  France.  For  four  or  five  months,  whilst  the  bad 
weather  sheltered  me  from  intruders,  I  enjoyed  more  keenly 
than  I  ever  had  before,  and  more  than  I  ever  have  since, 
that  calm,  simple,  independent  life,  the  enjoyment  of  which 
but  heightened  its  value  in  my  eyes  ;  though  without  any 
other  companions  than  the  two  'Governesses' — really,  and  the 
two  cousins — ideally.  It  was  then  especially  that  I  congratu- 
lated myself  more  and  more  every  day  upon  the  course  I 
had  had  the  good  sense  to  pursue,  unmindful  of  the  clamors 
of  my  friends,  vexed  at  seeing  me  escaped  from  their 
tyranny  ;  and  when  I  learned  the  attempt  of  a  madman — 
when  Deleyre,  and  Madam  d'Epinay  spoke  in  their  let- 
ters of  the  turmoil  and  agitation  that  reigned  in  Paris, 
how  thankful  was  I  to  heaven  for  having  removed  me  to 
a  distance  from  all  such  scenes  of  horror  and  crime  :  they 
would  but  have  stimulated  the  bilious  humor  the  spectacle 
of  public  disorder  had  called  up  ;  whereas,  seeing  now 
naught  but  calm  and  smiling  scenes  around  my  retirement, 
my  heart  gave  way  to  none  but  pleasing  sentiments.  I 
note  here  with  satisfaction  the  progress  of  the  last  peace- 
ful moments  left  me.  The  spring  following  this  winter,  all 
so  calm,  saw  the  germination  of  the  misfortunes  that  re- 
main for  me  to  describe,  and  in  the  constant  sequence  of 
which  no  like  hitervals  will  appear,  during  which  I  had  a 
breathing-time  given  me. 

*  Here  is  the  note  as  given  in  Madam  d'Epinay ^s  Minioires  (Vol.  II., 
p.  347): 

"  I  send  j'ou,  liermit  of  mine,  certain  little  matters  in  the  provision 
line  for  Madam  Le  Vasseur;  and  as  I  transmit  them  by  a  new  hand 
this  time,  here  is  the  list  of  what  he  is  entrusted  with:  a  small  barrel 
of  salt,  a  curtain  for  Madam  Le  Vasscur's  room  and  a  new  silk  flannel 
petticoat  of  mine  (at  least  I  have  not  worn  it),  just  tlie  thing  to  nialce 
lier  one,  or  it  would  do  very  well  to  make  you  a  good  warm  waistcoat. 
Bye-bye,  thou  king  of  bears.      Let's  hear  from  you."     Tr. 

*  The  attempt  Damien  made  to  assassinate  Louis  XV.,  January  4, 
1757.     Tr. 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  IX.       1757.  179 

And  yet  I  think  I  recollect  that,  during  this  interval  of 
peace,  and  though  plunged  in  solitude,  I  was  not  left  alto- 
gether undisturbed  by  the  Holbachians.  Diderot  raised 
some  squabble  or  other,  and  I  am  very  much  mistaken  if 
it  was  not  during  this  same  winter  that  the  Fils  nafurd 
(The  Natural  JSon,)  of  which  I  shall  soon  have  to  speak, 
appeared.  Independent  of  the  causes,  presently  to  be  de- 
veloped that  left  me  very  few  reliable  memorials  relative 
to  this  epoch,  even  those  I  have  been  able  to  preserve  are 
exceeding  confused  as  regards  dates.  Diderot  never  dated 
his  letters.  Madam  d'Epinay  and  Madam  d'Houdetot, 
scarcely  ever  put  anything  beyond  the  day  of  the  week, 
and  Deleyre  for  the  most  part  did  the  same.  When  I  un- 
dertook to  arrange  these  letters  in  order,  I  was  forced 
pretty  much  to  guess  at  the  dates,  so  that  they  are  both 
uncertain  and  unreliable.  Thus,  not  being  able  to  fix  with 
certainty  on  the  beginning  of  these  squabbles,  I  prefer 
bringing  together  everything  I  can  recollect  concerning  it 
in  a  single  article.     This  by-and-by. 

The  return  of  spring  had  redoubled  my  tender  delirium; 
and  in  my  erotic  transports  I  had  composed  several  letters 
for  the  last  part  of  the  Heloise,  that  bore  the  impress  of 
the  rapture  in  which  they  were  composed.  I  may  cite, 
among  others,  the  Elisium  letter,  and  the  one  giving  an 
account  of  an  excursion  on  the  lake,  which,  if  my  memory 
deceive  me  not,  are  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  part.  The 
man  that  can  read  these  two  letters  without  feeling  his 
heart  melt  and  dissolve  in  the  same  soft  love-pity  that  in- 
spired them  may  as  well  shut  the  book  :  nature  never  in- 
tended him  to  know  anything  about  matters  of  sentiment. 

Precisely  at  this  same  time  I  had  a  second  unexpected 
visit  from  Madam  d'Houdetot.  In  the  absence  of  her  hus- 
band who  was  a  captain  in  the  gendarmerie,  and  of  her 
lover,  also  on  service,  she  had  come  to  Eaubonne,  in  the 
middle  of  the  Valley  of  Montmorency,  where  she  had 
taken  a  very  handsome  house.  It  was  from  here  she  came 
and  made  a  second  excursion  to  the  Hermitage.  This 
time,  she  came  on  horseback,  dressed  in  man's  attire. 
Though  I  have  no  great  fancy  for  that  sort  of  masquerade, 
I  was  struck  with  the  romantic  air  of  the  present  one — 
and  love-struck  too.     As  this  was  the  first  and  only  love 


180  Rousseau's  confessions. 

of  all  my  life,  a  love  the  consequences  whereof  will  evei 
render  it  dire  and  memorable  to  me,  it  may  perhaps  be 
allowable  for  me  to  enter  into  some  detail  thereanent. 

The  Countess  d'Houdetot  was  approaching  thirty,  and 
was  not  handsome  :  her  face  was  pitted  with  small-pox,  her 
complexion  was  rather  coarse,  her  eyes  were  roundish  and 
she  was  short-sighted  ;  but,  for  all  that,  she  looked  young, 
while  her  sweet  yet  Uvely  countenance  rendered  her  extremely 
engaging  ;  she  had  a  gipsey  figure  and  a  forest  of  long  black 
hah"  that  fell  in  natural  ringlets  below  her  waist,  while  there 
was  a  blending  of  awkwardness  and  grace  in  her  every  move- 
ment. She  had  a  natural  and  most  agreeable  wit,  wherein 
gayety,  headiness  and  naivete  happily  married.  She  abounded 
in  charming  sallies  that  were  perfectly  unsought  after,  and 
which  at  times  fell  from  her  in  spite  of  herself.  She  had 
several  agreeable  accomplishments,  played  the  harpsichord, 
danced  well  and  wrote  quite  pretty  verses.  As  to  her  dis- 
position, it  was  angelic  ;  sweetness  formed  the  basis  of  her 
character — a  character  which,  barring  prudence  and  fortitude, 
united  in  itself  every  virtue.  She  was,  in  particular,  of  such 
reliability  in  her  engagements,  of  such  fidelity  in  intercourse 
that  even  her  enemies  were  under  no  necessity  of  concealing 
anything  from  her.  By  enemies,  I  mean  the  men — or  rather 
the  women — that  hated  her  ;  for,  for  her  part,  she  had  not 
a  heart  that  could  hate,  and  I  think  this  fact  greatly  contri- 
buted to  inspire  me  with  a  passion  for  her.  In  the  intimacy 
of  the  closest  friendship  I  never  heard  her  speak  ill  of  any 
one  absent,  not  even  of  her  sister-in-law.  She  could  neither 
conceal  what  she  thought  of  a  person,  nor  yet  disguise  a 
single  sentiment  ;  and  X  i^m  persuaded  she  spoke  of  her  lover 
to  her  husband  even  as  she  did  to  her  friends,  her  acquaint- 
ances and  everybody  else.  Fhially,  what  proves  beyond  all 
cavil,  the  purity  and  sincerity  of  her  beautiful  nature  is  the 
fact  that,  subject  as  she  was  to  the  most  enormous  mental 
absences  and  the  most  laughable  tongue — slijjs,  though  she 
let  fall  many  an  extremely  imjirudent  thing  for  herself,  she 
was  never  guilty  of  any  thing  in  the  least  prejudicial  to  any- 
body else  whatever. 

While  very  young,  they  had  married  her,  against  her  in- 
clinations, to  Count  d'Houdetot,  a  man  of  rank  and  a  good 
soldier,  but  a  player  and  wrangler,  far  from  amiable,  and 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  IX,       1156.  181 

whom  she  never  loved.  She  found  in  M.  de  Saint-Lambert 
all  the  good  qualities  of  her  husband  with  other  character- 
istics that  were  more  agreeable — -culture,  virtue,  talent.  If 
we  allow  somewhat  for  the  morals  of  the  age,  theirs  is  cer- 
tainly an  attachment  that  its  continuance  purifies,  its  effects 
honor,  and  the  only  cement  of  which  is  mutual  esteem. 

It  was  somewhat  from  inchnatiou,  as  far  as  I  can  tell, 
but  chiefly  to  please  Saint-Lambert  that  she  came  to  see  me. 
He  had  requested  her  to  do  so,  and  he  was  right  in  believing 
that  the  friendship  that  was  beginning  to  arise  between  us 
would  render  the  acquaintance  agreeable  to  all  of  us.  She 
knew  that  I  was  aware  of  their  liaisons  ;  and,  free  to  speak 
unrestrainedly  to  me  of  him,  it  was  but  natural  that  she 
should  enjoy  my  company.  She  came, — I  saw  her.  I  was 
love-drunk,  without  having  any  definite  object  ;  this  intoxi- 
cation fascinated  my  eyes,  and  she  became  the  object  of  my 
passion.  I  saw  my  Julia  in  Madam  d'Houdetot,  and  ere 
long  I  could  see  no  one  else,  though  it  was  D'Houdetot 
possessed  of  all  the  perfections  wherewith  I  had  adorned  my 
heart's  idol.  To  crown  the  whole,  she  spoke  to  me  of  Saint- 
Lambert  with  all  the  fondness  of  a  passionate  lover.  Ah  ! 
contagion  of  love  1  while  listening  to  her,  while  near  her,  I 
was  seized  with  a  dehcious  thrill  I  had  never  experienced 
with  any  body  else.  She  spoke,  and  the  deeps  of  my  nature 
were  moved  ;  I  thought  I  was  nothing  more  than  interested 
in  her  sentiments,  while  I  was  being  seized  with  the  like,  and 
I  drank  deep  draughts  from  the  poisoned  chalice,  the  sweet- 
ness whereof  was  as  yet  all  I  perceived.  In  fine,  mipercep- 
tibly  to  us  both,  she  inspired  me  with  all  she  expressed  for 
her  lover.  Alas  !  'twas  very  late,  'twas  very  bitter  to  burn 
with  passion  for  a  woman  whose  heart  was  full  of  love  for 
another  1 

Notwithstanding  the  extraordinary  emotions  I  had  felt 
while  by  her,  I  did  not  at  first  perceive  what  had  happened 
me  :  it  was  not  till  after  her  departure  that,  trying  to  turn 
my  thoughts  on  Julia,  I  was  astounded  at  being  unable  to 
think  of  any  body  but  Madam  d'Houdetot.  The  scales  then 
fell  from  my  eyes  :  I  felt  my  misery,  trembled  at  it,  but  saw 
not  the  consequences  thereof 

For  a  long  time  I  hesitated  as  to  how  I  should  behave 
towards  her,  as  though  genuine  love  left  one  reason  enough 


182  Rousseau's  confessions. 

to  follow  out  trains  of  deliberation  !  I  had  not  made  up 
my  mind  when  she  came  in  on  me  unawares.  For  the 
nonce,  I  had  a  perfect  realization  of  my  situation.  Shame, 
the  companion  of  evil,  made  me  dumb  and  I  trembled 
before  her.  I  dared  neither  open  my  mouth  nor  raise  my 
eyes  ;  I  was  plunged  into  inexpressible  confusion,  and  it  was 
impossible  for  her  not  to  perceive  it.  I  resolved  to  make 
an  avowal  of  my  troubled  state  of  mind,  leaving  her  to 
divine  the  cause  :  'twas  to  speak  plainly  enough. 

Had  I  been  young  and  attractive,  and  had  Madam 
d  Houdetot  afterwards  yielded  to  weakness,  I  should  here 
blame  her  conduct  ;  but  as  this  was  not  so  I  can  but  admire 
and  extol  it.  The  course  she  pursued  was  as  generous  as  it 
was  prudent.  She  could  not  have  broken  off  suddenly 
with  me  without  giving  her  reasons  therefor  to  Saint-Lam- 
bert, who  had  himself  moved  her  to  seek  my  acquaintance  : 
'twould  but  have  been  to  expose  two  friends  to  a  rupture, 
and  the  whole  affair  to  publicity  ;  this  she  wished  to  avoid. 
Towards  myself  she  felt  esteem  and  kindness.  She  pitied 
my  folly  ;  and  though  she  did  not  encourage  my  passion, 
she  mourned  it,  and  endeavored  to  cure  me  thereof.  She 
was  glad  to  preserve  to  her  lover  and  herself  a  friend  of 
whom  she  thought  a  good  deal,  and  she  spoke  of  nothing 
with  more  pleasure  than  the  sweet,  close  fellowship  we 
might  form  between  the  three  of  us,  when  I  should  again 
come  back  to  my  right  mind.  She  did  not,  however,  always 
conline  herself  to  these  amical  exhortations  ;  and  when 
need  was,  she  did  not  spare  me  the  severer  reproaches  I 
had  so  richly  deserved. 

I  spared  myself  still  less  ;  the  moment  I  was  alone,  I 
came  back  to  myself.  After  my  declaration,  too,  I  was 
calmer  :  a  love  known  to  the  person  inspiring  it  becomes  more 
endurable.  The  intensity  with  which  I  reproached  myself 
for  my  passion  might  well  have  cured  me  of  it,  had  a  cure 
been  possible.  What  powerful  motives  did  I  not  call  to  my 
aid  so  as  to  stifle  it  !  My  morality,  sentiments,  principles  ; 
the  shame,  treachery,  crime  of  abusing  a  trust  confided  to 
me  by  friendship  ;  then  the  ridiculosity  of  burning  at  my 
age  with  the  most  extravagant  passion  for  an  object  whose 
preoccupied  heart  was  unable  either  to  give  me  any  return 
or  any  hope, — with  a  passion,  moreover,  which,  far  from 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  IX.       1757.  183 

having  aught  to  gain  by  constancy,  but  became  daily  less 
endurable. 

Who  would  imagine  that  this  last  consideration — a  con- 
sideration that  ought  to  have  added  weight  to  all  the  others 
— was  precisely  the  one  that  played  the  devil  with  all  the 
others  ?  "  Why  should  I  scruple,"  argued  I,  "  to  hidulge  in  a 
folly  that  can  harm  no  one?  Am  I,  then,  a  young  cavalier, 
hugely  to  be  feared  by  Madam  d'Houdetot?  Will  not  my 
presumptuous  remorse  give  people  occasion  to  say  that  she 
is  in  mighty  danger  of  being  seduced  by  my  gallantry,  looks 
and  dress  ?  Poor  Jean  Jacques,  love  on  at  thy  ease,  heed- 
less of  conscience,  nor  fear  thy  sighs  will  ever  harm  Saint- 
Lambert." 

It  has  been  seen  that  I  never  was  forward,  not  even  ia 
youth.  The  above  way  of  thinking  was  german  to  my  turn 
of  mind,  it  flattered  my  passion  :  this  was  of  itself  enough 
to  induce  me  to  give  myself  wholly  up  thereto,  ay,  and  to 
laugh  even  at  my  impertinent  scruples,  raised,  as  I  thought, 
rather  by  vanity  than  reason.  A  lesson  of  weightiest  im- 
port to  virtuous  souls  ;  for  vice  never  attacks  such  openly, 
but  finds  the  means  of  surprising  them  by  constantly 
masking  itself  under  some  sophism  or  other,  ay,  and  often 
by  taking  the  very  garb  of  virtue. 

Guilty  without  remorse,  I  soon  became  so  without  mea- 
sure ;  and  see,  reader,  I  intreat  you,  how  my  passion  fol- 
lowed the  bent  of  my  disposition  to  drag  me  at  last  into  the 
abyss.  At  first,  it  assumed  an  humble  air  so  as  to  assure 
me  ;  and,  to  give  me  pluck,  it  pushed  this  humility  to  very 
mistrust.  Madam  d'Houdetot,  without  ceasing  to  call  me 
back  to  duty  and  reason,  without  for  a  moment  flattering  my 
folly,  treated  me,  withal,  with  the  utmost  mildness,  and  as- 
sumed the  tone  of  the  tenderest  friendship  towards  me.  This 
amity  would,  I  do  protest,  have  sufficed  me,  had  I  believed 
it  sincere  ;  but  finding  it  too  strong  to  be  genuine,  did  I  not 
go  and  get  into  my  head  that  my  passion,  so  ill-suited  to  my 
age  and  appearance,  had  rendered  me  contemptible  in  the 
eyes  of  Madam  d'Houdetot  ;  that  the  young  mad-cap  did 
Dut  wish  to  divert  herself  with  me  and  my  superannuated 
amorosity — that  she  had  revealed  the  whole  to  Saint-Lam- 
bert, and  that  he,  indignant  at  my  infidelity,  had  entered  in- 
to her  views,  and  they  had  both  come  to  an  understanding 


184  Rousseau's  confessions. 

to  turn  my  head  and  then  make  a  fool  of  me  I  This  absurd 
idea,  which  had  at  twenty-six  made  me  guilty  of  all  sorts  of  ex- 
travagant stupidities  with  Madam  de  Larnage,  whom  I  did 
not  know,  might  have  been  pardonable  at  forty-five  with 
Madam  d'Houdetot,  had  I  been  ignorant  of  the  fact  that 
she  and  her  lover  were  both  of  them  too  upright  and  sincere 
to  indulge  in  any  such  barbarous  amusement. 

Madam  d'Houdetot  continued  to  visit  me,  and  I  did  not 
delay  returning  the  visits.  She  was,  like  myself,  fond  of 
walking,  and  we  took  long  strolls  together  in  the  enchanting 
comitry  we  were  then  in.  Satisfied  with  loving  and  daring 
to  speak  my  love,  I  would  have  been  in  the  most  delightful 
situation  possible,  had  not  my  extravagance  destroyed  all  its 
charm.  At  first,  she  could  not  fathom  the  cause  of  the  silly 
pettishness  with  which  I  received  her  kind  attentions  ;  but 
my  heart,  incapable  of  concealing  anything  going  on  within 
it,  did  not  leave  her  long  ignorant  of  my  suspicions.  She 
tried  to  laugh  me  out  of  it  ;  this  expedient  did  not  succeed, 
— transports  of  rage  would  have  been  the  only  effect  it  would 
have  had  on  me,  so  she  changed  her  tone.  Her  compassion- 
ate gentleness  was  invincible  ;  she  overwhelmed  me  with  re- 
proaches that  cut  me  to  the  very  heart,  and  manifested  a 
disquietude  touching  my  unjust  fears  that  I  took  advantage 
of.  I  demanded  proof  that  she  was  not  making  a  mock  of 
me.  She  saw  that  there  was  no  other  way  of  convincing 
me.  I  became  pressing  ;  the  step  was  delicate.  It  is  as- 
tonishing, it  is  unexampled  perhaps,  for  a  woman  to  suffer 
herself  to  be  brought  to  hesitate,  and  then  have  got  herself 
off  so  well.  She  refused  me  naught  the  tenderest  friendship 
might  grant  ;  she  granted  me  naught  that  could  be  constru- 
ed into  infidelity  ;  and  I  had  the  humiliation  of  seeing  that 
the  conflagration  lier  slightest  favor  raised  in  my  blood  com- 
municated not  the  smallest  spark  to  her  chaste  senses. 

I  have  somewhere  said*  that  we  must  give  the  passions 
nothing,  if  we  intend  refusing  them  aught.  To  appreciate 
how  false  tliis  i)rincii)le  was  in  the  case  of  Madam  d'Houde- 
tot, and  how  right  she  was  in  trusting  herself,  would  necessi- 
tate my  entering  into  the  details  of  our  long  and  frequent  in- 
terviews, and  d(!velopiug  them  in  their  living  lineaments,  dur- 
ing the  four  months  we  passed  together,  in  an  intimacy 

*  Nouvelle  Heloise,  Part  Three,  Letter  XVIII.     Tr. 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  IX.       115*1.  185 

almost  unparalleled  between  two  friends  of  opposite  sex,  con- 
fining themselves  to  the  bounds  beyond  which  we  never 
strayed.  Ah  !  if  I  had  delayed  so  long  feeling  the  power 
of  genuine  love,  how  fully  did  my  heart  and  senses  now  pay 
up  the  arrears  !  and  what  must  be  the  transport  experienced 
in  the  presence  of  a  loved  one  that  returns  that  affection,  if 
even  an  unrequited  love  has  the  power  to  inspu'e  such  lofty 
rapture  I 

But  I  am  wrong  in  saying  an  unshared  love  ;  mine  was 
in  some  sort  shared  :  it  was  equal  on  each  side,  though  not 
reciprocal.  We  were  both  love-drunk — she  for  her  lover, 
I  for  her  :  our  sighs  and  delicious  tears  mingled  together. 
Tender  confidents  of  each  other's  secret,  our  sentiments 
were  so  akin,  that  it  was  impossible  they  should  not  meet 
somewhere.  And  yet,  amid  this  dangerous  intoxication, 
never  did  she  for  a  moment  forget  herself ;  and  for  myself 
I  protest,  I  swear  that  if,  hurried  away  at  times  by  pas- 
sion, I  attempted  to  render  her  faithless,  I  never  really  de- 
sired it.  The  vehemence  of  my  passion  was  itself  a  re- 
straint on  it.  The  duty  of  self-denial  elevates  my  soul. 
To  my  eyes  the  brightness  of  every  virtue  adorned  my 
idol  :  to  have  soiled  the  image  thereof  would  have  been  to 
destroy  it.  The  crime  I  might  have  been  guilty  of, — I  was 
guilty  of  it  a  hundred  times  over  in  my  heart  :  but  dis- 
honor my  Sophia — ah  I  could  I  ever  ?  No,  no,  I  have  told 
herself  a  hundred  times  over, 'twas  impossible.  Had  I  had 
free  power  to  satisfy  my  desires,  had  she  of  her  own  free 
will  committed  herself  to  my  discretion,  barring  some  few 
short  moments  of  delirium,  I  should  have  refused  to  be 
happy  at  this  price.  I  loved  her  too  well  to  wish  to  possess 
her. 

It  is  about  three  miles  from  the  Hermitage  to  Eau- 
bonne.  In  my  frequent  excursions  thither,  I  sometimes 
chanced  to  sleep  there.  One  evening,  after  having  supped 
together,  we  went  to  walk  in  the  garden.  'Twas  a  beauti- 
ful moonlight  evening.  At  the  bottom  of  the  garden  was, 
a  considerable  copse,  through  which  we  passed  on  our  way 
to  a  pretty  grove,  adorned  with  a  cascade  which  she  had 
had  executed  after  an  idea  I  had  given  her. 

Immortal  souvenir  of  innocence  and  delight !  'Twas  in 
this  grove  that,   seated  by  her  side  on  a  bench  of  green 


186  Rousseau's  confessions. 

sward,  under  an  acacia  all  loaded  with  flowers,  I  found 
language  for  the  expression  of  ray  emotions  truly  worthy 
of  them.  'Twas  the  first  and  only  time  of  my  life  ;  but  I 
was  sublime,  if  so  you  may  call  all  that  is  amiable  and 
seducing  wherewith  the  teuderest  and  most  ardent  love 
can  inspire  the  heart  of  man.  What  intoxicating  tears 
did  I  shed  o'er  her  knees,  and  how  I  made  her,  too,  melt  ! 
At  length,  in  an  involuntary  transport,  she  exclaimed  : 
"  No,  never  was  man  so  amiable  as  you,  never  was  lover's 
love  so  strong  as  your's  !  But  your  friend  Saint-Lambert 
hears  us,  and  my  heart  cannot  love  twice."  I  sighed  and 
spoke  not,  but  embraced  her — what  an  embrace  ! 

That  was  all. 

She  had  lived  for  six  months  alone,  that  is,  far  from  her 
lover  and  her  husband  ;  for  three  months  I  had  seen  her 
almost  every  day,  with  love  as  a  constant  tie  between  us. 
We  had  supped  together,  we  were  alone  in  a  grove  by  moon- 
light, and,  after  two  hours  of  the  most  touching  and  tender 
talk,  she  left  this  grove  and  the  arms  of  her  friend  at  mid- 
night, as  intact,  as  pure  in  body  and  soul  as  she  had  en- 
tered. Reader,  weigh  all  these  circumstances  ;  I  shall  add 
nothing  more. 

And  do  not  go  and  imagine  that  in  this  instance,  my 
passions  left  me  undisturbed,  as  they  had  with  Theresa  and 
Maman.  I  have  already  said,  'twas  love  this  time,  and  love 
iu  all  its  energy  and  in  all  its  fury.  I  shall  not  describe 
the  agitations,  tremblings,  palpitations,  convulsions,  nor 
heart-sinkings  I  continually  experienced  :  of  these  a  con- 
ception may  be  formed  by  the  effect  her  mere  image  pro- 
duced on  me.  I  have  said  that  it  was  some  distance  from 
the  Hermitage  to  Eaubonne.  I  used  to  take  my  way  by 
the  Hills  of  Andilly,  which  are  charming.  While  walking 
I  would  muse  on  her  I  was  going  to  see — the  kind  re- 
ception she  would  give  me,  the  kiss  that  awaited  me 
on  my  arrival.  That  simple  kiss,  that  fatal  kiss,  even 
before  receiYing  it,  would  so  inflame  my  blood  that  my 
head  would  grow  dizzy,  a  blinding  light  would  dazzle 
ray  eyes,  my  trembling  knees  were  insufficient  to  uphold 
me,  I  would  have  to  stop  and  sit  down,  my  whole 
frame  in  an  inconceivable  disorder,  and  I  on  the  point  of 
fainting.     Conscious  of  my  danger,  I  would  try,  on  setting 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  IX.      115*1.  18 7 

out,  to  divert  ray  mind  and  tliiuk  of  something  else.  I 
would  not  have  proceeded  twenty  steps  before  the  same  re- 
collection, and  all  the  concomitants  inevitably  following  in 
its  train,  would  return  to  assail  me.  There  was  no  possi- 
bility of  getting  over  it  ;  and,  do  as  I  might,  I  do  not 
think  there  was  a  single  time  I  managed  to  make  this  ex- 
cursion with  impunity.  I  would  arrive  at  Eaubonne, 
weak,  exhausted,  and  scarcely  able  to  support  myself.  The 
moment  I  saw  her,  everything  was  made  up  for  ;  I  felt 
while  by  her  but  the  importunity  of  an  inexhaustible  and 
ever  useless  vigor.  Upon  the  road  to  and  in  sight  of  Eau- 
bonne there  was  a  pleasant  terrace,  called  '  Mount 
Olympus',  which  we  sometimes  made  a  meeting-place.  I 
was  generally  the  first  to  get  there,  so  I  had  to  wait  for 
her  ;  but  how  dear  did  this  waiting  cost  me  !  To  divert 
my  mind,  I  tried  my  hand  at  writing  billets  with  my  lead- 
pencil,  which  I  could  have  traced  with  the  purest  drops  of  my 
blood  :  I  could  never  finish  one  that  was  fit  to  be  read.  If 
she  did  find  any  of  them  in  the  niche  we  had  agreed  upon, 
it  is  impossible  she  could  have  gathered  anything  from  the 
contents,  but  the  deplorable  state  of  the  writer.  This  con- 
dition, and  especially  its  duration,  during  three  months  of 
constant  irritation  and  privation,  threw  me  into  a  state  of 
exhaustion  that  I  was  several  years  in  recovering  from,  and 
resulted  in  bringing  on  a  decline  that  I  shall  carry,  or 
rather  that  will  carry  me,  to  the  grave.  Such  was  the 
sole  love-enjoyment  of  the  man  of  the  most  combustible 
temperament,  but  at  the  same  time  the  most  timid  nature 
ever  born.  These  were  the  last  happy  days  allotted  me  on 
earth  :  here  begins  the  endless  web  of  my  life's  miseries  ; 
but  few  interruptions  will  be  met  with  thereto. 

It  has  been  seen,  in  the  whole  course  of  my  life,  that 
my  heart,  transparent  as  crystal,  was  never  skilled  to  con- 
ceal for  a  moment  any  sentiment  at  all  powerful,  that  had 
arisen  therein.  Judge  if  it  was  possible  for  me  long  to 
conceal  my  love  for  Madam  d'Houdetot.  Our  intimacy 
was  patent  to  every  eye  ;  we  made  neither  a  secret  nor  a 
mystery  of  it.  Indeed,  it  was  not  of  a  nature  to  require 
it  ;  and  as  Madam  d'Houdetot  entertained  the  tender- 
est  friendship  for  me,  which  she  did  not  reproach  her- 
self with,    and  I  for  her   an  esteem  whose  depth  nobody 


188  Rousseau's  confessions. 

kuew  better  than  myself — she,  open,  absent-minded,  heed- 
less ; — I,  down-right,  maladroit,  proud,  impatient,  choleric, 
we  gave  much  more  occasion  for  hold  to  be  taken  of  our 
conduct,  in  our  deceitful  security,  than  we  should  have  done, 
had  we  indeed  been  culpable.  We  both  went  to  La  Che- 
vrette,  where  we  often  met,  sometimes  by  appointment. 
While  there,  we  lived  after  our  usual  fashion,  taking  daily 
walks  together,  discoursing  of  our  loves,  our  duties,  our 
friend,  our  innocent  projects  :  this,  too,  in  the  park,  in  front 
of  Madam  d'Epinay's  apartments,  under  her  windows, 
whence  incessantly  watching  us  and  thinking  herself  braved, 
her  eyes  fed  her  heart  with  indignation  and  rage. 

Women  have  universally  the  art  of  concealing  their 
fury,  especially  if  it  be  keen  and  heart-felt :  Madam  d'Epi- 
nay,  violent,  but  calculating,  had  it  in  an  eminent  degree. 
She  feigned  not  to  see,  not  to  suspect  anything  ;  and,  at 
the  same  time  that  she  was  redoubling  her  attentions  and 
solicitude  towards  me,  ay,  and  her  very  cajolery  almost,  she 
affected  to  load  her  sister-in-law  with  incivilities  and  marks 
of  a  disdain  which,  seemingly,  she  desired  to  communicate 
to  me.  As  may  readily  be  guessed,  she  did  not  succeed  ; 
but  I  was  on  the  rack.  Torn  by  opposite  passions,  at  the 
same  time  that  I  was  touched  by  her  kindness,  I  could 
scarce  contain  ray  anger  when  I  saw  her  treat  Madam 
d'Houdetot  rudely.  The  angelic  sweetness  of  this  lady 
made  her  endure  everything  without  a  murmur,  nay,  with- 
out even  taking  offence.  Indeed,  she  was  so  absent-minded, 
and  so  little  sensiljle,  any  way,  to  that  sort  of  thing,  that 
half  the  time  she  did  not  even  perceive  it. 

So  absorbed  was  I  by  my  passion  that,  seeing  naught 
but  Sophia,*  I  did  not  even  notice  that  I  had  become  the 
laugliing- stock  of  the  whole  house  and  all  that  came  to  it. 
Baron  d'Holbach,  who  had  never,  that  I  know,  been  at  La 
Chevrette,  made  a  sudden  visit  thither.  Had  I  at  the 
time  been  as  mistrustful  as  I  afterwards  became,  I  should 
have  strongly  suspected  Madam  d'E[)inay's  having  ar- 
ranged this  trip  to  furnish  him  the  amusing  luxury  of  see- 
ing '  tlie  Citizen'  head  over  ears  in  love.  But  I  was  then 
so  blindly  stupid  as  not  even  to  see  what  was  glaringly 
palpable  to  every  eye.     All  my  simplicity  did  not,  how- 

*  A  name  of  Madam  d'Houdetot. 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  IX.       1T51.  189 

ever,  prevent  my  noticing  that  the  Baron  was  more  glee- 
some  and  jovial  than  usual.  In  place  of  looking  on  me 
with  his  usual  sullenness,  he  let  fly  a  hundred,  to  me  most 
incomprehensible  merry  banterings,  at  me.  I  stared  with 
surprise,  and  knew  not  what  to  say ;  while  Madam  d'Epi- 
nay  had  to  hold  her  sides  with  laughing.  I  could  not  con- 
ceive what  possessed  them.  As  nothing  had  as  yet  passed 
the  bounds  of  pleasantry,  the  best  thing  I  could  have  done, 
had  I  but  had  wit  enough,  would  have  been  to  have  gone 
into  it  also,  and  kept  up  the  joke.  The  fact  is,  however, 
that  I  discerned,  athwart  the  Baron's  rallying  gayety,  a 
malignant  joy  sparkling  in  his  eyes,  that  might  have  oc- 
casioned me  uneasiness,  had  I  observed  it  as  particularly 
at  the  time  as  I  recollected  it  afterwards. 

One  day  on  going  to  see  Madam  d'Houdetot  at  Eau- 
bonne,  on  her  return  from  one  of  her  excursions  to  Paris, 
I  found  her  sad,  and  noticed  that  she  had  been  weeping. 
I  was  obliged  to  restrain  myself  as  Madam  de  Blainville,  a 
sister  of  her  husband's,  was  present ;  but  the  moment  I 
found  an  opportunity,  I  expressed  my  uneasiness  to  her. 
"  Ah  1  ■"  said  she  with  a  sigh,  "  I  greatly  fear  your  folly 
will  "cost  me  my  peace  of  mind  for  the  rest  of  my  days. 
Saint-Lambert  has  learned  the  state  of  things,  and  has 
communicated  the  fact  to  me.  He  does  me  justice  ;  but  he 
is  vexed,  and,  what  is  still  worse,  he  hides  a  part  of  his 
vexation  from  me.  Happily  I  have  concealed  nothing  from 
him  touching  our  connection — brought  about,  as  you  know, 
under  his  auspices.  My  letters,  like  my  heart,  have  been 
full  of  you  :  the  only  thing  I  have  concealed  is  your  insen- 
sate love,  of  which  I  hoped  to  cure  you,  and  which,  with- 
out saying  anything  to  me  about  it,  I  see  he  imputes  to  me 
as  a  crime.  Somebody  has  done  us  an  ill  turn — they  have 
wronged  me  :  but  what  matters  it?  Either  let  us  break 
off  with  each  other  entirely,  or  be  you  what  you  ought  to 
be.  I  do  not  want  ever  again  to  have  anything  to  conceal 
from  my  lover." 

This  was  the  first  moment  I  was  sensible  of  the  shame  of 
being  humiliated,  by  the  realization  of  my  fault,  before  a 
young  woman  whose  just  reproaches  I  was  undergoing,  in- 
stead of  being,  as  I  ought  to  have  been,  a  Mentor  to  her. 
The  mdignation  I  felt  at  myself  might,  perchance,  have  suf- 


190  Rousseau's  confessions 

ficecl  to  overcome  my  weakuess,  had  not  the  tender  compas- 
sion with  which  the  victim  inspired  me  again  softened  my 
heart.  Alas  I  was  this  the  time  to  harden  it  when  it  was  inun- 
dated with  my  tears?  This  melting  mood  was  soon  changed  into 
rage  against  the  vile  informers  who  had  seen  but  the  evil  of  a 
criminal  though  involuntary  sentiment,  without  believing  or 
even  imagining  the  sincere  uprightness  that  redeemed  it.  We 
did  not  long  remain  in  doubt  as  to  the  hand  that  du'ected  the 
blow. 

We  were  both  aware  that  Madam  d'Epinay  kept  up  a 
correspondence  with  Samt-Lambert.  It  was  not  the  first 
storm  she  had  raised  against  Madam  d'Houdetot,  from  whom 
she  made  a  thousand  efforts  to  detach  her  lover,  and  whom 
the  success  of  some  of  her  eftbrts  caused  to  tremble  for  the 
result.  Besides,  Grimm,  who,  it  seems  to  me,  had  accompa- 
nied M.  de  Castries  to  the  army,  was  in  Westphalia  as  well  as 
Saint-Lambert ;  they  saw  each  other  at  times.  Grknm  had 
made  some  attempts  on  Madam  d'Houdetot  that  had  not 
succeeded.  Keenly  piqued  at  this,  he  ceased  visiting  her 
altogether.  Judge  with  what  sang  froid,  modest  as  he  is 
known  to  be,  he  must  have  heard  of  her  preference  for  an 
older  man  than  himself,  and  one,  too,  of  whom  he,  Grimm, 
since  his  frequenting  the  company  of  the  great,  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  speaking  as  a  mere  protegee  of  his. 

My  suspicions  of  Madam  d'Epinay  were  changed  into 
certainty  the  moment  I  learned  what  had  passed  at  my 
house.  When  I  was  at  La  Chevrette,  Therese  often  came 
thither,  either  to  bring  me  my  letters,  or  to  render  me  the 
attentions  my  ill-health  demanded.  Madam  d'Epinay  had 
asked  her  if  Madam  d'Houdetot  and  I  did  not  write  to  each 
other.  Upon  her  answering  in  the  affirmative.  Madam 
d'Epinay  pressed  her  to  give  her  Madam  d'Houdetot's  letters, 
assuring  her  that  she  would  re-seal  them  in  such  a  way  that 
it  should  never  be  known.  Therese,  without  manifesting  how 
much  the  proposition  shocked  her,  and  without  even  putting 
me  on  my  guard,  contented  herself  with  hiding  the  letters 
she  brought  me  more  carefull}^ — a  very  fortunate  precaution; 
for  Madam  d'Epinay  had  her  watched  when  she  arrived, 
and,  waiting  for  her  several  times  in  the  passage,  carried  her 
audacity  so  far  as  to  examine  her  apron.  She  went  farther: 
having  one  day  invited  herself  to  come  along  with  M.  de 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  IX.     1757.  191 

Margency  and  dine  at  the  Hermitage,  for  the  first  tune  since 
my  residence  there,  she  seized  the  opportunity  while  I  was 
taking  a  walk  along  with  Margency,  to  enter  my  study  with 
the  mother  and  daughter,  and  pressed  them  to  show  her 
Madam  d'Houdetot's  letters.  Had  the  mother  known  where 
they  were,  she  would  have  got  them ;  but  happily  the  daugh- 
ter alone  knew,  and  denied  that  I  had  preserved  any  of  them 
— a  lie  full,  assui'edly,  of  honesty,  fidehty  and  generosity, 
whilst  the  truth  would  have  been  a  mere  perfidy.  Madam 
d'Epinay,  seeing  that  she  could  not  seduce  her,  tried  to  irritate 
her  by  jealousy,  reproaching  her  with  her  facility  and  blindness, 
"  How  is  it  possible  ?"  said  she  to  her, "  for  you  to  help  perceiving 
that  they  have  criminal  intercourse  ?  If,  spite  of  what  is  so 
palpable  to  every  eye,  you  need  other  proof,  lend  your  aid  to 
obtain  it.  You  say  he  tears  up  Madam  d'Houdetot's  letters 
as  soon  as  he  has  read  them  :  very  well,  do  you  carefully 
gather  up  the  pieces  and  give  them  to  me;  I  shall  manage  to 
put  them  together."  Such  were  the  lessons  my  friend  gave 
the  partner  of  my  bosom. 

Therese  had  the  prudence  to  conceal  these  attempts  from 
me  for  a  considerable  time  ;  but,  seeing  my  perplexities,  she 
thought  herself  obliged  to  tell  me  all,  so  that,  knowing  with 
whom  I  had  to  do,  I  might  take  my  measures,  and  prepare 
for  the  plot  they  were  laying  for  me.  My  indignation,  my 
fury  are  indescribable.  Instead  of  dissimulating  with  Madam 
d'Epinay,  after  her  example,  and  making  use  of  counterplots, 
I  gave  loose  rems  to  my  natural  unpetuosity,  and,  with  my 
usual  headiness,  came  right  out.  Some  idea  of  my  impru- 
dence may  be  gained  by  the  following  letters,  which  give  a 
pretty  fair  exhibition  of  how  both  parties  proceeded  on  this 
occasion. 

Note  from  Madam  d'Epinay,  File  A,  No.  44. 

"  How  is  it,  my  dear  friend,  that  I  do  not  see  you  ?  I 
feel  uneasy  about  you.  You  have  so  often  promised  me  to 
do  nothing  but  come  and  go  between  here  and  the  Hermit- 
age 1  As  to  this,  I  have  left  you  at  liberty  .  .  .  but  no,  you 
have  let  eight  days  pass  without  coming.  Had  I  not  been  told 
you  were  in  good  health,  I  should  have  thought  you  sick.  1  fully 
expected  you  the  day  before  yesterday,  and  then  yesterday ;  but 
was  disappouited.     For  God's  sake,  what's  the  matter  with 


192  Rousseau's  CONFESSIONS 

you  ?  You  have  no  engagements  on  hand,  nor  can  you  have 
any  griefs  on  your  mind  either,  for  I  flatter  myself  you  would 
have  forthwith  come  and  confided  it  to  me.  You  must  be 
ill.  I  pray  you  reheve  me  from  this  anxiety.  Adieu, 
my  dear  friend  :  let  this  adieu  bring  me  a  'good  day'  from 
you." 

Answer. 

"  Monday  Morning. 

I  can  as  yet  say  nothing  to  you.  I  wait  further  informa- 
tion, and  have  it  I  shall,  sooner  or  later.  Meanwhile,  rest 
satisfied  that  accused  innocence  will  find  a  defender  ardent 
enough  to  give  the  slanderers,  whoever  they  may  be,  some- 
thing to  repent  of." 

Second  Note  from  the  Same,  File  A,  JYo.  45. 

"  Know  you  that  your  letter  terrifies  me.  What  does  it 
mean  ?  I  have  re-read  it  twenty  times  and  more,  and  am 
still  as  far  as  ever  from  fathoming  its  meaning.  AU  I 
can '  gather  is  that  you  are  uneasy  and  tormented,  and 
that  you  are  waiting  till  you  get  over  it  to  speak  to  me  on 
the  subject.  My  dear  friend,  is  this  what  we  agreed  on  ? 
What,  then,  has  become  of  your  ft-iendship  and  confidence  ? 
and  how  have  I  lost  them  ?  Is  it  with  me,  or  on  my 
account  that  you  are  angry  ?  However  it  may  be,  come  to 
me  this  evening,  I  entreat  you.  Don't  you  mind  that  it  isn't 
eight  days  since  you  promised  me  that  you  would  not  let 
anything  lie  on  your  mind,  but  would  come  and  tell  me  of  it 
immediately.  My  dear  friend,  I  live  in  that  confidence  .  .  . 
Hold,  I  have  just  read  your  letter  again  :  I  understand  its 
contents  no  better  ;  but  it  makes  me  tremble.  It  seems  to 
me  you  are  cruelly  agitated.  I  could  wish  to  calm  you;  but 
as  I  know  not  the  cause  of  your  uneasiness,  I  cannot  tell  what  to 
say  to  you,  unless  to  tdl  you  that  I  am  as  wretched  as  yourself, 
and  shall  remain  so  until  I  see  you.  If  you  are  not  here  this 
evening  at  six  o'clock,  I  shall  set  out  for  the  Hermitage  to- 
morrow morning,  let  the  weather  and  my  health  be  what 
they  may  ;  for  I  can  no  longer  endure  this  disquietude. 
Good-bye,  my  dear  good  friend.  I  take  the  hberty  of  tell- 
ing you,  at  a  venture,  without  knowing  whether  you  need 
the  advice  or  no,  to  try  and  put  a  stop  to  the  progress  un- 


PERIOD  11.      BOOK  IX.       1*157.  193 

easiness  makes  in  solitude.     A  mole-hill  becomes  a  mountain : 
I  have  often  felt  it." 

Answer. 

"Wednesday  Evening, 

"  1  can  neither  go  to  see  you,  nor  receive  your  visit  whilst 
my  present  uneasiness  continues.  The  confidence  of  which 
you  speak  no  longer  exists,  and  it  will  not  be  easy  for  you  to 
recover  it.  I  can  see  nothing  at  present  in  your  eagerness 
and  anxiety  but  the  desire  of  drawing  from  the  confession  of 
others  some  advantage  favorable  to  your  views  ;  and  my 
heart,  so  ready  to  open  at  the  touch  of  true  sympathy,  closes 
at  anything  like  trickery  or  finesse.  I  recognize  your  gene- 
ral craft  in  the  difficulty  you  find  in  understanding  my  note. 
Do  you  think  me  fool  enough  to  believe  you  really  did  not 
understand  it  ?  No  ;  but  I  have  it  in  me  to  conquer  your 
subtleties  by  my  openness.  I  shall  explain  myself  more 
clearly,  so  that  you  may  understand  me  still  less. 

"  Two  lovers,  closely  united  and  worthy  of  each  others' 
love,  are  dear  to  me  :  (I  suppose  you  won't  know  whom  I 
mean,  unless  I  mention  their  names.)  It  is  presumed  by  me 
that  attempts  have  been  made  to  estrange  them,  and  that  it 
is  I  that  have  been  made  use  of  to  mspire  one  of  them  with 
jealousy.  The  choice  is  not  a  remarkably  bright  one,  but  it 
appeared  convenient  for  the  ends  of  malice,  and  of  this  malice 
I  suspect  yov,  guilty.  I  trust  the  matter  becomes  a  httle 
clearer. 

Thus  the  woman  I  hold  in  highest  esteem  would,  with  my 
cognizance  have  been  loaded  with  the  mfamy  of  dividing  her 
heart  and  her  person  between  two  lovers,  and  I  with  bemg 
one  of  these  wretches.  Were  I  sure  that,  for  a  single  mo- 
ment of  your  life,  you  had  ever  been  able  to  think  thus  of 
her  or  me,  I  should  hate  you  till  my  last  hour.  But,  'tis 
with  having  said,  not  with  having  beUeved  it  that  I  charge 
you.  I  cannot  comprehend,  in  such  a  case,  which  of  the 
three  you  meant  to  harm  ;  but  if  you  have  any  anxiety  after 
peace  of  mind,  treml^le  lest  you  may  have  succeeded.  I  have 
neither  concealed  from  you  nor  from  her  all  the  ill  I  think 
of  certam  connections  ;  but  I  wish  them  to  end  as  honestly 
as  they  began,  and  that  an  illegitimate  love  should  be  changed 
into  an  eternal  friendship.  Should  I,  who  never  harmed  any 
11.  9 


194  Rousseau's  confessions. 

one,  be  the  innocent  instrument  of  harming  my  friends  ?  No  ; 
I  should  never  forgive  you,  I  should  become  your  implacable 
enemy.  Your  secrets  are  all  I  should  respect,  for  whUe  I 
live  I  shall  Uve  with  my  honor. 

I  do  not  apprehend  my  present  perplexity  can  long  con- 
tinue. I  shall  soon  know  whether  or  not  I  am  deceived. 
When  I  do  so,  I  may  perchance  have  great  wrongs  to  re- 
pau" — and  there  never  was  anything  I  shall  do  more  cheer- 
fully. But  know  you  how  I  shall  make  amends  for  my  errors 
dm'tng  the  brief  period  I  shall  remain  near  you  ?  By  doing 
what  nobody  but  myself  will  do  :  by  frankly  tellhig  you  what 
the  world  thinks  of  you,  and  the  breaches  you  have  to  re- 
pau'  in  your  reputation.  Maugre  aU  the  pretended  friends 
by  whom  you  are  surrounded,  when  you  see  me  go,  you  may 
bid  adieu  to  truth  ;  you  will  no  longer  find  any  body  that 
will  tell  it  you." 

Third  Note  from  the  Same,  File  A,  No.  46. 

I  did  not  understand  your  letter  of  this  morning  :  I  said 
so,  because  it  was  so.  This  evening's  I  do  understand  ;  do'nt 
be  afraid  I  shall  ever  answer  it,  I  am  too  anxious  to  forget 
it ;  and  though  you  excite  my  pity,  I  am  not  proof  against 
the  bitterness  with  which  it  has  filled  my  mmd.  I,  descend 
to  trickery  and  cunning  with  you  !  I,  accused  of  the  black- 
est of  infamies  I  Adieu  ;  I  regret  you  having  the  . . .  Adieu  ; 
I  know  not  what  I  say  . . .  Adieu  :  I  shall  be  very  anxious 
to  forgive  you.  You  shall  come  when  you  please, — you  will 
be  better  received  than  yom'  suspicious  deserve.  Only  do 
not  trouble  yourself  about  my  reputation  :  Uttle  matters  it 
to  me  what  the  world  thinks  of  me.  My  conduct  is  upright, 
and  that's  enough.  Over  and  above,  I  am  absolutely  ignor- 
ant of  what  has  happened  to  the  two  persons  :  they  are  as 
dear  to  me  as  they  are  to  you." 

This  last  letter  extricated  me  from  a  terrible  embarrass- 
ment, and  plunged  me  into  another  of  almost  equal  magni- 
tude. Though  all  these  letters  had  come  and  gone  in  the 
space  of  a  single  day  with  an  extreme  rapidity,  this  interval 
had  sufiBced  to  give  me  breathing-time  after  my  transport  of 
fury,  and  time,  too,  to  reflect  on  the  enormity  of  my  impru- 
dence. There  was  nothing  Madam  d'Houdetot  had  recom- 
mended so  earnestly  to  me  as  to  remain  quiet  and  let  her  get 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  IX.       ItST.  195 

herself  out  of  the  difficulty  alone,  especially  avoiding  all  pub- 
licity and  rupture ;  and  now  I  had,  by  the  most  open  and 
atrocious  insults,  gone  and  filled  to  the  full  with  rage  the 
heart  of  a  woman  already  too  disposed  thereto.  Naturally 
I  had  nothing  to  expect  from  her  but  an  answer  so  haughty, 
disdainful  and  contemptuous  that,  without  the  basest  mean- 
ness, I  could  do  nothing  but  instantly  quit  her  house.  Happily, 
more  adroit  than  I  was  furious,  by  the  tui'n  of  her  reply,  she 
avoided  reducing  me  to  this  extremity.  But  it  was  inevita- 
ble for  me  either  to  leave  or  instantly  to  go  and  see  her, — 
there  was  no  alternative.  I  resolved  on  the  latter  cowse, 
hugely  embarrassed  as  to  what  face  I  should  put  on  in  the 
explanation  I  foresaw.  For  how  clear  myself  without  com- 
promising either  Madam  d'Houdetot  or  Therese?  and  woe 
be  to  her  I  should  expose  !  There  was  nothing  the  vengeance 
of  an  unplacable  and  crafty  woman  could  devise  that  I  did 
not  with  fear  and  trembling  anticipate  for  the  person  who 
should  become  the  object  of  it.  It  was  to  prevent  this  mis- 
fortune that  I  had  spoken  of  nothing  but  suspicions  in  my 
letter,  so  as  not  to  be  under  the  necessity  of  producing  my 
proofs.  True,  this  rendered  my  transports  of  rage  less  excus- 
able, no  mere  suspicion  authorizing  me  to  treat  a  woman, 
and  especially  a  friend,  in  the  way  I  had  done  Madam  d'Epi- 
nay.  But  here  commences  the  great  and  noble  task  I  worth- 
ily fulfilled  of  expiating  my  secret  faults  and  foibles  by  charg- 
ing myself  with  errors  of  greater  magnitude,  errors  whereof 
I  was  incapable  and  which  I  never  committed. 

I  had  not  to  go  through  the  ordeal  I  had  expected,  and 
I  might  have  spared  my  fears.  At  my  approach  Madam 
d'Epinay  threw  her  arms  around  my  neck  and  burst  into 
tears.  This  unexpected  reception,  by  an  old  friend,  afi'ected 
me  extremely  ;  I  too,  wept  much.  I  said  a  few  words  that 
did  not  mean  much  ;  she  rephed  in  others  that  meant  still 
less,  and  so  the  whole  matter  ended.  Supper  had  been 
served  up,  so  we  sat  down  to  table,  where,  in  expectation  of 
the  explanation  I  thought  deferred  till  after  supper,  I  made 
a  very  poor  figure  ;  for  so  overcome  am  I  by  the  most  trifling 
disquietude  of  mind  that  I  cannot  hide  it  from  eveu  the 
dullest  eye.  My  embarrassed  air  might  well  have  given  her 
courage  ;  however,  she  did  not  risk  the  attempt,  so  no  more 
of  an  explanation  came  after  than  before  supper.     The  next 


196  Rousseau's  confessions. 

day  was  the  same,  and  our  reticent  interviews  were  simply 
filled  up  with  matters  neither  here  nor  there,  or  with  polite 
attentions  on  my  part,  whereby,  while  testifying  that  it  was 
impossible  for  me  as  yet  to  say  anything  farther  touching 
the  foundation  of  my  suspicions,  I  gave  her  to  understand 
most  truthfully  that,  if  they  proved  groundless,  my  whole 
life  would  be  employed  in  repairing  the  injustice  I  had  done 
her.  She  did  not  manifest  the  slightest  curiosity  to  know 
precisely  what  these  suspicions  were,  nor  whence  I  got  them, 
and  all  our  peace-making  consisted  in  the  embrace  at  our 
first  meeting.  Seeing  that  she  alone  was  the  wronged  party — 
in  form  at  least — it  seemed  to  me  that  it  was  not  for  me  to 
press  an  explanation  she  herself  seemed  to  feel  no  anxiety 
after ;  so  I  returned  as  I  had  come.  Continuing  withal  our 
intercourse  on  the  same  footing  as  before,  the  quarrel  soon 
faded  almost  quite  out  of  my  mind,  and  I  was  such  a  fool  as 
to  beUeve  she  too  had  forgotten  it,  because  she  seemed  to 
have  no  further  remembrance  thereof. 

This,  as  will  soon  appear,  was  not  the  only  trouble  my 
weakness  caused  me.  There  was  another  set  of  grievances, 
not  a  whit  less  poignant  that  were  not  brought  on  by  myself 
but  which  arose  solely  from  the  determination  of  my  friends 
to  force  me  from  my  solitude  *  by  dint  of  tormenting  me. 
Diderot  and  the  Holbachians  were  the  main  leaders. 
Ever  since  ray  removal  to  the  Hermitage,  Diderot  had 
never  ceased  tormenting  me,  either  directly  or  through 
Deleyre  ;  and  I  soon  perceived  from  the  pleasantries  of  the 
latter  on  ray  grove-ram blings  how  keenly  they  had  enjoyed 
travestying  the  hermit  into  the  'Gallant  Shepherd.'  But 
this  was  not  the  point  of  contention  in  my  quarrels  with 
Diderot :  these  had  a  graver  cause.  Mter  the  publication 
of  the  Fils  Naturel  (The  Natural  Son),  he  had  sent  me  a 
copy  ;  I  read  it  with  the  interest  and  attention  one  gives  to 
the  works  of  a  friend.  Perusing  the  species  of  theory  of 
poetry  he  has  joined  thereto,  I  was  surprised,  nay  grieved 
to  find,  among  various  unkindly,  though  endurable  things 
against  lovers  of  solitude,  this  hard  and  cutting  sentence, 

*  That  is  to  get  the  old  •woman  off,  seeing  f  hey  needed  her  assistance 
in  the  arrangement  of  tlie  plot.  'Tis  astonishing  that  during  the  whole 
of  this  long  storm,  my  stupid  confidence  prevented  me  from  seeing  that 
it  was  not  me  but  her  they  wanted  to  get  back  to  Paris. 


PERIOD  ir.    BOOK  IX.      I'JSt.  191 

unqualified  by  any  softening  circumstances,  NoTie  but  the 
wicked  dwell  alone — ('  11  n'y  a  que  le  mechant  qui  soit  seul.') 
This  saying,  it  seems  to  me,  is  equivocal,  and  may  mean  two 
things — one  very  true  and  the  other  very  false.  It  is  im- 
possible for  a  man  who  is,  and  wishes  to  be  alone  to  be 
able  and  willing  to  do  anybody  harm — impossible  conse- 
quently for  him  to  be  a  wicked  man.  In  itself,  therefore, 
the  saying  required  interpretation  ;  much  more  it  required 
it  on  the  part  of  an  author  who,  when  printing  that  sen- 
tence, had  a  friend  who  had  retired  into  solitude.  It  ap- 
peared to  me  shocking  and  uncivil,  either  to  have  forgotten 
that  solitary  friend  or,  if  he  did  remember  him,  not  to  have 
made  from  the  general  maxim  the  just  and  honorable 
exception  he  owed,  not  only  to  that  friend,  but  to  so  many 
venerable  sages,  who  in  all  times,  have  sought  calm  and 
peace  in  retirement,  and  of  whom,  for  the  first  time  since 
the  creation  of  the  world,  a  writer  ventured,  with  a  single 
stroke  of  the  pen,  indiscriminately  to  make  so  many 
villains. 

Diderot  I  loved  tenderly  and  esteemed  sincerely,  and 
I  counted  with  entire  confidence  on  a  return  of  the  sane 
sentiments  from  him.  But,  tired  to  death  with  his  in- 
defatigable persistency  in  putting  himself  in  eternal  antago- 
nism with  my  tastes,  likings  and  way  of  living — matters 
with  which  nobody  had  any  business  but  myself ;  shocked 
at  seeing  a  man  that  was  younger  than  myself,  obstinately 
bent  on  leading  me  like  a  child,  whether  I  would  or  no  ; 
disgusted  with  his  facility  in  promising,  and  his  negligence 
in  performing  ;  weary  of  so  many  appointments  he  had 
made  himself  and  then  broken,  and  of  his  whim  for  making 
ever  so  many  new  ones  only  to  be  broken  as  certain  as  made  ; 
chafing  at  haviog  to  wait  for  him  three  or  four  times  a 
month,  on  days  he  had  himself  set,  and  having  to  dine  alone 
at  night,  after  having  gone  as  far  as  Saint-Denis  to  meet 
him  and  waited  the  whole  day  for  him,  my  heart  was 
already  full  of  the  multiplied  wrongs  he  had  done  me. 
This  last  one,*  however,  appeared  to  me  graver  than  all, 
and  lascerated  my  heart.  I  wrote  him  complaining  of  it 
but  with  a  mildness  and  soft  tenderness  that  wet  the  paper 

*  Diderot^s  having  said  that  '  none  but  the  wicked    dwell  apart." 
Tr. 


198  RoussEAr's  confessions. 

with  my  tears  ;  and  my  letter  was  tonching  enough  to  have 
moved  him,  too.  It  would  be  impossible  to  divine  what  his 
answer  was  ;  here  it  is  word  for  word  (File  A.  Xo.  33)  : 

"  I  am  glad  my  work  has  pleased,  has  affected  you.  You 
are  not  of  my  opinion  touching  hermits.  Say  as  much 
good  of  them  as  you  please,  you  are  the  only  one  in  the 
world  of  whom  I  shall  ever  believe  these  fine  things  :  and 
even  on  that  score  there  might  be  much  to  say,  were  it 
possible  to  speak  to  you  thereanent  without  offending  you. 
A  woman  of  four  score  years,  etc.  A  passage  from  a 
letter  of  Madam  d'Epinay's  son  has  come  to  my  ears  that 
must  have  deeply  pained  you,  or  I  know  ill  your  inmost 
heart." 

The  two  last  expressions  of  this  letter  require  explanation. 

When  we  began  living  at  the  Hermitage,  Madam  Le 
Vasseur  seemed  dissatisfied  with  it,  and  thought  the  place 
too  lonesome.  Iler  complaints  having  reached  my  ears,  I 
offered  to  send  her  back  to  Paris,  if  she  thought  she  v/ould 
find  living  there  pleasanter,  agreeing  to  pay  her  board,  and 
have  the  same  care  taken  of  her  as  if  she  remained  with  me. 
This  offer  she  rejected,  protesting  that  she  was  quite  de- 
lighted with  the  Hermitage,  and  that  the  country  air  did 
her  good  :  and  that  tliis  was  so,  was  evident,  for  she  seemed  to 
become  rejuvinated  so  to  speak,  and  enjoyed  much  better 
health  than  in  Paris.  Her  daughter  told  me  that,  at  tlie 
bottom,  she  would  have  been  very  sorry  had  we  left  the 
Hermitage,  which  was  really  a  charming  retreat,  being 
very  fond  of  the  little  chores  of  the  garden  and  tlie  care  of 
the  fruit,  of  which  she  had  the  management  ;  but  that  she 
had  said  what  she  had  been  put  up  to  say,  with  a  view  of 
getting  me  to  return  to  Paris. 

This  attempt  having  failed,  they  tried  to  gain  the  end 
complaisance  had  not  produced  through  my  conscience,  and 
so  made  a  crime  of  my  keeping  the  old  woman  out  there, 
at  a  distance  from  the  succor  she  might  need  at  her  age, 
without  recollecting  that  she  and  many  other  old  people, 
whose  life  the  excellent  air  of  the  country  prolongs,  could 
obtain  this  succor  from  Montmorency,  right  at  my  door: 
as  though,  there  were  no  old  people  but  in  Paris,  and  as 
though  it  was  imjjossible  for  them  to  live  anywhere  else  ! 


PERIOD  11.     BOOK  IX.       1757.  199 

Madam  Le  Vasseur,  who  eat  immensely  and  with  extreme 
voracity,  was  subject  to  fits  of  bile  and  violent  diarrhoeas, 
which  would  last  for  several  days,  and  cure  her.  in  Paris, 
she  never  did  anything,  but  let  nature  take  its  own  way. 
Slie  pursued  the  same  course  at  the  Hermitage,  well  aware 
tiiat  she  could  not  do  better.  Ko  matter :  because  there 
were  no  physicians  or  apothecaries  in  the  country,  keeping 
her  there  must  be  with  the  express  desire  of  putting  an 
end  to  her — and  this  though  she  was  in  perfect  health  1 
Diderot  ought  to  have  determined  at  what  age  it  is  not 
permissable,  under  penalty  of  homicide,  to  allow  old  folks 
to  live  out  of  Paris. 

This  was  one  of  the  two  atrocious  accusations,  on  ac- 
count of  which  he  did  not  except  me  from  his  dictum  that 
'none  but  the  wicked  dwell  apart;'  and  this  is  what  his 
pathetic  exclamation  signified,  including  the  et  cetera  he  had 
benignly  added  :  a  woman  of  four  score  years  !  etc. 

I  thought  the  best  answer  that  could  be  given  to  this 
reproach  would  come  from  Madam  Le  Yasseur  herself.  I 
begged  her  to  write  her  feeUngs  freely  and  naturally  to 
Madam  d'Epinay.  To  set  her  more  at  her  ease  I  would 
not  see  her  letter,  and  I  showed  her  the  one  I  shall  here 
transcribe,  and  which  I  wrote  to  Madam  d'Epinay,  touch- 
ing an  answer  I  had  wished  to  send  to  another  letter  of 
Diderot's  that  was  still  more  severe,  and  which  she  had 
prevented  me  from  sending, 

"  Thursday. 

Ma  bonne  amie,  Madam  Le  Yasseur  is  going  to  write 
to  you  ;  I  have  begged  her  to  tell  you  sincerely  what  she 
thinks,  and  that  she  may  feel  still  more  at  her  ease,  I  have 
told  her  that  I  will  not  see  what  she  writes,  and  I  pray 
you  not  to  communicate  to  me  anything  it  contains. 

I  shall  not  send  my  letter,*  since  you  oppose  my  doing 
so  ;  but,  as  I  feel  myself  very  grievously  offended,  to  ac- 
knowledge myself  in  the  wrong  would  be  a  meanness  and 
a  falsehood  of  which  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  be  guilty. 
Tiie  gospel  indeed  commands  him  who  is  struck  on  the  one 
cheek  to  offer  the  other  also,  but  not  to  ask  pardon.  Do 
you  remember  the  man  in  the  comedy  who  while  thrashing 

*  The  letter  to  Diderot.     Tr. 


200  Rousseau's  confessions. 

away  at  a  luckless  wight,  exclaims,  'There's  the  part  of 
a  philosopher  for  you  !' 

Do  uot  flatter  yourself  that  he  will  be  prevented  from 
coming  by  the  present  bad  weather.  His  rage  will  give 
him  the  time  and  strength  friendship  refuses  him,  and  it 
will  be  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  ever  kept  an  appoint- 
ment. He  will  outdo  himself  to  come,  and  from  his  mouth, 
pour  out  on  me  the  insults  he  loads  me  with  in  his  letters  ! 
1  shall  endure  them  nothing  less  than  patiently.  He  will 
return  to  Paris  to  be  ill  again  ;  and  I,  according  to  custom, 
shall  be  a  very  hateful  man.  What  is  to  be  done  ?  Suffer 
I  must. 

But  do  you  not  admire  the  wisdom  of  the  man  that  in- 
sisted on  coming  and  taking  me  in  a  carriage  to  dine  at 
Saint-Denis,  and  bring  me  back  in  a  carriage  also,  and 
whose  finances,  eight  days  afterwards  (file  A.  No.  34)  were 
in  such  a  state  as  to  oblige  him  to  come  to  the  Hermitage 
on  foot  ?  It  is  not  absolutely  impossible  (to  talk  after  his 
manner),  that  this  should  be  the  tone  of  good  faith  ;  but 
in  that  case,  eight  days  must  have  seen  strange  changes 
in  his  fortunes. 

I  sympathize  with  you  in  the  affliction  the  illness  of  your 
mother  gives  you  ;  but  you  see  your  grief  does  not  approach 
mine.  We  suffer  less  at  seeing  people  we  love  sick,  than  at 
seeing  them  cruel  and  unjust. 

Adieu,  ma  honne  amie ;  this  is  the  last  time  I  shall  speak 
to  you  of  this  unhappy  affair.  You  talk  to  me  of  going  to 
Paris  with  a  coolness  that  would  delight  me  at  any  other  time." 

I  wrote  to  Diderot,  telling  him  what  I  had  done  relative 
to  Madam  Le  Vasseur,  at  the  suggestion  of  Madam  d'Epi- 
nay  herself  ;  and  Madam  Le  "Vasseur  having  chosen,  as 
may  well  be  supposed,  to  stay  at  the  Hermitage,  where 
she  enjoyed  excellent  health,  where  she  had  always  com- 
pany and  where  she  lived  very  agreeably,  Diderot,  puzzled 
to  know  what  to  impute  to  me  as  a  crime  next,  construed  my 
precaution  into  one,  and  did  not  fail  to  discover  another  in 
Madam  Le  Vasseur's  continuing  to  reside  at  the  Hermit- 
age, albeit  this  was  by  her  own  choice,  and  her  returning 
t(j  Paris  had  dej)endod,  and  did  still  depend,  upon  herself  : 
I  should  have  supported  her  there  just  as  carefully  as  I 
did  at  my  own  house. 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  IX.       lT5t.  201 

This  is  the  explanation  of  the  first  reproach  in  Dide- 
rot's letter,  No.  33.  That  of  the  second  is  in  letter  No. 
34.  "  '■JLittratiis''  (a  nickname  given  by  Grimm  to  Madam 
d'Epinay's  son)  'Literatus'  must  have  informed  yon  that 
there  were  twenty  poor  people  on  the  ramparts  dying  of 
cold  and  hunger,  waiting  the  farthing  you  were  wont  to 
give  them.  This  is  a  specimen  of  our  little  chat...  and  if 
you  heard  the  rest,  it  might  afford  you  similar  amuse- 
ment." 

Here  was  my  reply  to  this  terrible  argument,  whereof 
Diderot  seemed  so  proud. 

I  think  I  answered  'Literatus' — the  son  of  a  Fermier- 
general,  namely — that  I  did  not  pity  the  poor  wretcl>es 
he  had  seen  on  the  ramparts  waiting  for  my  farthing  ;  as, 
to  all  appearance,  he  had  amply  made  it  up  to  them. 
That  I  appointed  him  my  substitute  ;  that  the  poor  of  Paris 
would  have  no  cause  to  complain  of  this  change  ;  that  I 
would  not  easily  find  so  good  an  one  for  those  of  Montmo- 
rency, who  had  much  more  need  of  such.  There  is  a  good 
and  respectable  old  man  here  who,  after  having  passed  his 
life  in  toil,  is  unable  to  work  any  more,  and  is  dying  of 
hunger  in  his  old  days.  My  conscience  is  more  satisfied 
with  the  two  sous  I  give  him  every  Monday,  than  with 
the  hundreds  of  farthings  I  should  have  distributed 
amongst  the  set  of  knaves  on  the  ramparts.  You  philos- 
ophers are  funny  fellows  to  look  on  the  dwellers  in  cities  as 
the  only  persons  duty  bids  you  befriend.  'Tis  in  the  coun- 
try one  learns  to  love  and  serve  humanity  ;  he  but  learns 
to  despise  it  in  cities." 

Such  were  the  ridiculous  trifles  on  account  of  which  a 
man  of  sense  had  the  imbecility  to  impute  to  me  my  leaving 
Paris  as  a  crime,  and  pretended  to  prove  to  me,  by  my  own 
example,  that  it  was  impossible  to  live  out  of  the  capital  and 
not  be  a  bad  man.  I  cannot  now,  for  tlie  life  of  me,  under- 
stand how  I  had  the  stupidity  to  answer  him  and  get  mad 
over  it,  in  place  of  simply  laughing  in  his  face.  And  yet,  the 
decisions  of  Madam  d'Epinay  and  the  clamors  of  the  Hol- 
bach  coterie  had  so  fascinated  all  minds  in  his  favor,  that  as 
a  general  thing  I  passed  for  having  acted  wrong  in  this  af- 
fair, and  Madam  d'Houdetot  herself,  an  enthusiastic  partisan 
of  Diderot's,  wanted  me  to  go  and  see  him  at  Paris,  and 
II.  9 


202  Rousseau's  confessions. 

make  all  the  advances  towards  a  reconciliation,  which,  how- 
ever sincere  and  hearty  it  was  on  my  part,  was  nevertheless 
very  short-lived.  The  victorious  argument  by  which  she  pre- 
vailed over  my  heart  was  that  Diderot  was  unhappy.  In 
addition  to  the  storm  excited  against  the  Encyclopaedia,  he 
had  then  another  very  violent  one  to  make  head  against. 
This  was  raised  by  his  piece,*  which,  spite  of  the  Httle  ac- 
count of  it  he  had  prefixed  thereto,  they  accused  him  of  hav- 
ing stolen  bodily  from  Goldoni.  Diderot,  still  more  sensible 
to  criticism  than  Yoltaire,  was  at  that  time  overwhelmed 
thereby.  Madam  de  GraflQgny  had  even  been  malicious 
enough  to  spread  the  report  that  I  had  a  rupture  with  him 
on  that  occasion.  It  seemed  to  me  that  it  would  be  just  and 
generous  publicly  to  prove  the  contrary,  and  I  went  and 
passed  two  days,  not  only  with  him,  but  at  his  lodgings. 
This  was  my  second  journey  to  Paris  since  my  removal  to  the 
Hermitage.  The  first  was  occasioned  by  my  having  to  has- 
ten to  poor  Gauffecourt,  who  had  an  attack  of  apoplexy  from 
which  he  has  never  quite  recovered,  and  during  which  I  ne- 
ver left  his  bed-side  till  he  got  on  his  feet  again. 

Diderot  received  me  well.  How  many  wrongs  does  the 
embrace  of  a  friend  blot  out  !  What  resentment  can  remain 
in  the  heart  after  that  ?  "We  had  but  little  explanation  : 
there  is  no  need  thereof  in  a  case  of  reciprocal  abuse.  There 
was  but  one  thing  to  do,  namely,  to  forget  it.  There  had 
been  no  underground  proceedings,  so  far  as  I  learned  at  least; 
'twas  not  as  with  jNIadam  d'Epinay.  He  showed  me  the 
plan  of  his Peredcfnmille — (Father  of  the  Family).  "This," 
said  I  to  him,  "  is  the  best  defence  of  the  Fils  naturel.  Keep 
your  counsel,  elaborate  your  piece  carefully,  and  then  hurl  it 
at  your  enemies  as  your  sole  reply."  He  did  so,  and  carried 
the  day.  It  was  almost  six  months  since  I  had  sent  him  the 
first  *"'»":•  parts  of  the  Nouvelk  Heloise  to  have  his  opinion  on 
it.  He  had  not  read  thcni  yet,  so  we  went  over  a  couple  of 
books  together.  He  thought  all  this  rather  fmilht, — that 
was  his  term;  that  is,  loaded  with  words  and  redundancies. 
I  had  keenly  felt  this  myself  already  :  but  it  was  mere  fever- 
ravings;  I  never  could  correct  it.  The  last  parts  are  not  so. 
The  fourth  especially,  and  the  sixth,  are  master-pieces  of 
diction. 

*  The  '  Fils  Naturel.'     Tr. 


PKRIOD  II.       BOOK  IX.       1157.  203 

The  second  day  of  my  arrival,  be  would  have  me  go  and 
take  supper  at  M.  d'Holbach's.  We  were  far  from  agree- 
ing on  this  point,  for  I  even  wanted  to  break  off  the  bargam 
for  the  manuscript  on  chemistry,  as  I  chafed  at  being  under 
any  obhgatiou  to  that  man.*  Diderot  carried  the  day,  how- 
ever. He  swore  M.  d'Holbach  loved  me  with  all  his  heart, 
adding  that  one  must  pardon  him  his  ways,  as  he  acted  so  to 
every  one,  and  nobody  suffered  more  from  it  than  his  Mends. 
He  represented  that  to  refuse  the  product  of  the  manuscript 
after  having  accepted  it  two  years  before,  would  be  an  af- 
front the  donor  had  not  deserved :  and  that  this  refusal 
might  be  misconstrued  into  a  secret  reproach  for  his  having 
delayed  so  long  concluding  the  bargain.  "  I  see  d'Holbach 
every  day,"  added  he,  "  and  I  know  him  better  than  you  do. 
If  it  was  not  all  for  the  best,  do  you  suppose  your  friend 
capable  of  advising  you  to  do  a  mean  thing  ?"  In  short, 
with  my  usual  weakness,  I  let  myself  be  overcome,  and  we 
went  and  took  supper  with  the  Baron,  who  received  me  as 
usual.  His  wife,  however,  met  me  coldly,  nay,  almost  unciv- 
illy. I  no  longer  recognized  that  amiable  Carohne,f  who, 
when  a  girl,  had  expressed  so  many  kmd  wishes  for  my  wel- 
fare. Indeed  I  thought  I  had  long  before  perceived  that 
since  Grunm  had  frequented  the  house  of  Aine,  they  no  longer 
gave  me  their  former  friendly  reception. 

Whilst  I  was  at  Paris,  Saint-Lambert  returned  from  the 
army.  Not  hearing  of  it,  I  did  not  see  him  till  after  my 
return  to  the  country,  first  at  La  Chevrette  and  afterwards 
at  the  Hermitage,  whither  he  came  along  with  Madam 
d'Houdetot  and  asked  me  for  some  dinner.  Judge  if  I  re- 
ceived them  with  pleasure  !  But  I  felt  still  greater  dehght 
at  witnessing  then-  good  understanding.  Calm  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  not  having  distm'bed  their  happiness,  I  was 
happy  myself ;  and  I  can  mth  all  truth  affirm  that  durmg 

*  Eoueseau  having  made  no  previous  mention  of  this  manuscript  and 
the  'bargain'  connected  therewith,  what  he  says  on  the  matter  is  quite 
unintclligilile.  I  have  not  been  able  to  tind  aught  to  throw  light  on  the 
subject.     Tr. 

t  In  the  previous  book,  P..  makes  mention  of  the  death  of  Madam 
d'Holbach.  The  person  here  referred  to  was  his  second  wife  Caroline 
Suzanne  d'Aine,  a  sister  of  his  former  wife,  whom  he  had  married 
with  the  permission  of  the  see  of  Rome.     Tr. 


204  Rousseau's  confessions. 

the  whole  of  my  mad  passion,  and  more  especially  at  the  mo- 
ment referred  to,  even  had  it  been  in  my  power  to  deprive 
him  of  Madam  d'Houdetot,  I  would  not  have  done  so,  would 
not  have  been  tempted  to  do  so.  I  found  her  so  attractive 
in  her  love  for  Saint-Lambert,  that  I  could  scarce  conceive 
it  possible  for  her  to  be  so  much  so,  even  had  it  been  me  she 
loved  ;  and,  so  far  from  wishing  to  disturb  their  union,  what 
I  most  truly  desired  of  her,  even  in  the  height  of  my  dehi'ium, 
was  that  she  should  let  herself  be  loved.  Indeed,  how  vio- 
lent soever  may  have  been  the  passion  with  which  I  burned 
for  her,  I  found  it  as  delightful  to  be  the  confidant  as  the  ob- 
ject of  her  love,  and  I  never  for  a  moment  regarded  her 
lover  as  a  rival,  but  ever  as  a  friend.  It  may  be  said  this 
was  not  love  :  be  it  so  ;  but  it  was  something  more  ! 

As  for  Saint-Lambert,  he  behaved  like  a  judicious  and 
upright  man.  As  I  was  the  only  guilty  one,  I  alone  suffered 
punishment, — even  this,  however,  with  the  utmost  indulgence. 
He  treated  me  in  a  severe  though  friendly  manner  :  I  saw 
I  had  lost  somewhat  in  his  esteem,  but  nothing  in  his  friend- 
ship. For  this  I  consoled  myself,  well  aware  that  it  would 
be  much  easier  for  me  to  recover  the  one  than  the  other,  and 
conscious  that  he  was  too  sensible  to  confound  a  transient 
and  involuntary  weakness,  with  a  vice  of  the  character.  If 
I  was  at  fault  at  all  in  what  had  passed,  I  was  very  httle  so. 
Was  it  I  that  had  sought  his  mistress  ?  Was  it  not  he  that 
sent  her  to  me  ?  Did  not  she  come  after  me  ?  Could  I 
avoid  receiving  her  ?  What  could  I  do  ?  They  alone  had 
done  the  evil ;  on  me  it  fell.  In  my  place,  he  would  have 
gone  as  far  as  I  did — perhaps  farther  ;  for,  however  faith- 
ful and  estimable  Madam  d'Houdetot  might  be,  she  was  still 
but  a  woman — he  was  absent — opportunities  were  frequent — 
temptations  strong,  and  it  would  have  been  very  hard  for 
her  always  to  have  defended  herself  with  the  same  success 
against  a  more  enterprising  man  than  myself.  It  was  cer- 
tainly much  for  both  her  and  me  to  have,  situated  as  we 
were,  laid  down  bounds  beyond  which  we  never  suffered  oui- 
selves  to  pass. 

Though  ray  heart  returned  me  an  honorable  enough  ver- 
dict, yet  so  many  appearances  were  against  me,  that  that 
invincible  shame  that  has  ever  mastered  me,  gave  me  all  the 
appearance  of  a  guilty  one  in  his  presence,  and  this  he  often 


PERIOD  11.       BOOK  IX.       1757.  205 

abused  to  humble  me.  A  single  circumstance  will  reveal  our 
reciprocal  position.  After  dinner  one  day  I  was  reading 
him  the  letter  I  had  written  Yoltaire  the  year  before,  of 
which  he  (Saint-Lambert)  had  heard  speak.  He  fell  asleep 
whilst  I  was  readmg  ;  and  I,  erst  so  proud  and  now  so 
sQly,  dared  not  break  off,  but  kept  reading  whilst  he  kept 
snoring.  Such  were  the  contumehes  I  suffered,  such  the 
vengeance  he  inflicted  ;  but  his  generosity  never  allowed 
him  to  do  so  but  between  the  three  of  us. 

After  his  departure,  I  found  Madam  d'Houdetot  greatly 
changed  in  her  manner  towards  me.  This  surprised  me  as 
much  as  though  it  was  not  to  have  been  expected.  It 
touched  me  more  than  it  ought  to  have  done,  and  this  did 
me  much  harm.  It  seemed  as  though  everything  from 
which  I  expected  a  cure,  did  but  drive  the  arrow  deeper 
into  my  heart.  jS^ay,  after  all,  I  rather  broke  than  ex- 
tracted it. 

I  was  bent  on  making  a  complete  conquest  of  myself, 
and  converting  my  mad  passion  into  a  pure  and  lasting 
friendship.  To  this  end  I  had  formed  some  of  the  finest 
imaginable  projects,  for  the  execution  whereof  the  concur- 
rence of  Madam  d'Houdetot  was  necessary.  When  I  went 
to  speak  to  her,  I  found  her  absent-minded  and  embar- 
rassed ;  I  felt  she  had  ceased  to  enjoy  my  company,  and  I 
clearly  saw  that  something  had  passed  she  was  unwilling 
to  tell  me,  and  which  I  never  found  out.  This  change,  for 
which  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  find  any  explanation,  cut 
me  to  the  heart.  She  asked  back  her  letters  ;  I  returned 
them  all  with  a  fidelity  which  she  did  me  the  injustice  to 
doubt  for  a  moment.  This  doubt  was  a  new  and  unex- 
pected wound  to  my  heart — that  heart  she  should  have 
known  so  well.  She  did  me  justice,  but  not  immediately  ; 
I  gathered  that  an  examination  of  the  package  I  had  giv- 
en her,  made  her  conscious  of  her  error  :  I  saw,  further, 
that  she  reproached  herself  therewith,  which  was  some  lit- 
tle reward.  She  could  not  take  back  her  letters  without 
returning  me  mine.  She  told  me  she  had  burnt  them  ;  I 
ventured  to  doubt  in  my  turn,  and  I  confess  I  still  doubt 
it.  No;  such  letters  are  never  thrown  into  the  fire.  Julie.' s  * 
have  been  thought  burning  :  God  1  what  would  these  have 

*  In  the  Nouvelle  Heloise.     Tr. 


206  Rousseau's  confessions. 

been  called  ?  No,  no,  never  could  she  that  had  the  pcwer 
to  inspire  a  like  passion,  have  the  courage  to  burn  the 
proofs  thereof.  But  neither  have  I  any  fear  that  she  made 
a  bad  use  of  them  :  I  do  not  tliink  her  capable  of  doing 
such  a  thing,  and  besides  mad  though  the  letters  were, 
there  was  method  in  their  madness.  The  very  strong, 
though  foolish  apprehension  I  entertained  of  being  made  a 
fool  of,  had  led  me  to  begin  this  correspondence  in  such  a 
way  as  to  secure  them  from  all  publicity.  I  carried  the 
familiarity  of  'theeing'  and  'thouing'  her  I  had  contracted 
during  my  wild  intoxication  into  my  letters;  but  what  a 
'theeing'  and  'thouing'!  She  surely  could  not  be  of- 
fended at  it.  And  yet  she  several  times  complained  of 
it ;  though  in  vain  :  her  complaints  but  awoke  my  fears  ; 
and  besides  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  lose  ground.  If 
these  letters  are  still  in  existence,  and  should  they  ever  be 
made  public,  it  will  then  be  known  how  I  loved.* 

The  grief  the  coldness  of  Madam  d'Houdetot  caused 
me,  and  the  consciousness  of  not  having  deserved  it,  in- 
duced me  to  adopt  the  singular  course  of  complaining  to 
Saint-Lambert  himself.  While  waiting  the  result  of  the 
letter  I  wrote  him  touching  the  matter,  I  did  what  I  ought 
to  have  done  before — I  went  into  pastimes  of  one  sort 
or  another.  They  had  fetes  at  La  Chevrette,  for  which  I 
furnished  music.  The  pleasure  of  doing  myself  honor  in 
Madam  d'Houdetot's  estimation  by  a  talent  she  loved,  fired 
my  imagination  ;  besides  which  there  was  another  thing 
that  animated  it — the  desire,  namely,  to  show  that  the 
author  of  the  Devin  du  Village  really  did  understand  mu- 
sic ;  for  I  had  perceived  that  some  one  had,  for  a  consider- 

•  "  Madam  Broutain,  who  lived  in  the  neighborhood  of  Eaubonne, 
desirous  of  coining  at  the  trutli  touching  the  fate  of  these  letters,  one 
day  questioned  Madam  d'Houdetot  on  the  matter.  Mme.  d'H.  replied 
that  she  had  indeed  burned  them,  with  the  exception  of  a  single  one, 
which  she  liad  not  liecn  able  to  bring  lierself  to  destroj-,  as  it  was  a 
master-piucf!  of  ehiqiuMice  and  passion,  and  that  she  had  given  it  into 
the  hands  of  M.  de  .Saint-Lambert.  l\Ime  B.  seized  the  lirst  opportu- 
nity to  ask  St-L.  about  the  fate  of  this  letter.  His  reply  was  that  it 
had  got  astray  during  a  removal,  and  he  linew  not  what  had  become 
of  it."  Such  is  the  account  of  the  matter  given  us  by  M.  Mus.'^et,  in 
his  pamphlet  entitled  "  Anecdotes  pour  /aire  suite  aux  Mtmuires  de 
Mine.  d'Epinay."  (Paris.  1818)     Tr. 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  IX.      1757.  207 

able  time,  been  laboring  to  render  this  doubtful,  at  least 
as  far  as  composition  goes.  Mj  appearance  at  Paris,  the 
severe  ordeals  through  which  I  had  at  various  times  passed, 
as  well  at  M.  Dupiii's  as  at  M.  La  Popliniere's  ;  the  quan- 
tity of  music  I  had  composed  during  the  past  fourteen 
years  amid  the  most  celebrated  artists  and  under  their 
eyes  ; — not  to  mention  any  thing  else,  the  Opera  of  the 
'Muses  Galantes/  the  '  Deviii  du  Village''  itself,  an  anthem 
I  had  composed  for  Mile.  Fel,  and  which  she  sang  at  the  sa- 
cred concert ;  the  many  many  conferences  I  had  had  with  the 
foremost  masters  on  this  finest  of  the  fine  arts — all  com- 
bined might  surely  well  have  either  prevented  or  dissi- 
pated such  a  doubt.  And  yet  it  existed,  even  at  La 
Chevrette,  and  I  perceived  that  M.  d'Epinay  himself  was 
not  free  from  it.  Without  appearing  to  take  any  notice 
of  this,  I  volunteered  to  compose  him  an  anthem  for  the 
dedication  of  the  chapel  at  La  Chevrette,  and  I  begged 
him  to  furnish  me  with  words  of  his  own  choosing.  This 
task  he  gave  into  the  hands  of  De  Linant,  his  son's  tutor. 
De  Linant  put  together  words  suitable  to  the  occasion  ; 
and  eight  days  after  they  were  given  me,  the  anthem  was 
finished.  Spite  was  my  muse  this  time,  and  certainly  never 
did  stronger  music  come  from  my  hands.  The  words  be- 
gan thus  :  Ecce  scdes  hie  Tonantis*  The  pomp  of  the 
opening  corresponds  with  the  words,  and  the  whole  an- 
them is  of  a  beauty  that  struck  every  one  that  heard  it. 
I  had  cast  it  for  a  full  orchestra.  D'Epinay  procured  the 
best  performers.  Madam  Bruna,  an  Italian  singer,  sang 
the  motet,  and  was  well  sustained.  The  anthem  met  with 
so  marked  a  success  that  it  was  afterwards  given  at  the 
sacred  concert,  where,  spite  of  under-ground  cabals  and  the 
abominable  execution,  it  was  applauded  to  the  echo  twice 
over.  For  the  celebration  of  M.  d'Epinay's  birth-day,  I 
gave  them  the  idea  of  a  kind  of  piece  half  drama,  half  pan- 
tomime, which  Madam  d'Epinay  put  together,  and  for  wliich 
I  composed  the  music  also.  Grimm,  on  his  arrival,  heard 
speak  of  my  musical  success.  An  hour  afterwards,  not  a 
word  more  was  said  on  the  subject :   but,   any  way,  there 

*  I  afterwards  learned  that    these  words  are  by  Santeuil,  and  that 
M.  de  Linant  had  very  coolly  appropriated  them. 


208  Rousseau's  confessions. 

was  no  more  doubt  afterwards,  as  far  as  I  know,  about  my 
knowledge  of  composition. 

Hardly  had  Grimm  come  to  La  Chevrette,  where  I  did 
not  enjoy  myself  too  well,  any  way,  before  he  managed  to 
make  my  stay  absolutely  insupportable.  This  he  effected 
by  airs,  the  like  of  which  I  never  saw  in  my  life,  and  of 
which  I  could  not  even  have  conceived.  On  the  evening 
before  his  arrival,  I  was  turned  out  of  the  chamhre  de 
faveur  which  was  next  to  Madam  d'Epinay's,  and  which  I 
occupied.  This  was  prepared  for  M.  Grimm,  and  1  sent 
into  another  one  far  off.  "Aha!"  said  I  laughingly  to 
Madam  d'Epinay,  "this  is  the  way  new  comers  supplant 
old  comers  !"  She  seemed  embarrassed.  I  got  light  on 
the  subject  that  very  evening,  on  learning  that  between 
her  room  and  the  one  I  had  left  there  was  a  secret  door, 
which  she  had  thought  needless  to  show  me.  Her  com- 
merce with  Grimm  was  a  matter  of  secret  to  nobody, 
either  in  the  house  or  out  of  it,  nay,  not  even  to  her  hus- 
band. And  yet  far  from  confessing  it  to  me,  the  confidant 
of  secrets  of  hers  of  much  greater  importance,  and  which 
she  was  very  sure  would  be  faithfully  kept,  she  constantly* 
denied  it  in  the  strongest  manner.  I  easily  saw  through 
this  reserve — saw  that  it  came  from  Grimm,  who  though 
entrusted  with  all  my  secrets,  did  not  wish  me  to  know  a 
single  one  of  his. 

Whatever  predilection  in  his  favor  my  former  senti- 
ments, not  yet  extinguished,  and  the  real  merit  of  the  man 
induced,  yet  it  was  not  proof  against  the  care  he  took  to 
destroy  it.  He  received  me  after  the  fashion  of  Count 
Tuffiere — scarcely  deigning  to  return  my  salute,  never  once 
speaking  to  mo,  and  ere  long  going  so  far  as  to  correct  me 
for  addressing  him  by  not  answering  me  at  all.  He  every- 
where passed  first,  invariably  taking  the  first  place,  and 
paying  me  not  the  slightest  attention.  This  might  have 
been  endurable  in  itself,  had  it  not  been  accompanied  by 
the  most  offensive  affectation.  However,  let  the  reader 
judge  for  himself  by  an  example  taken  from  a  thousand. 
One  evening,  Madam  d'E[)inay,  feeling  slightly  indisposed, 
ordered  a  little  supper  to  be  taken  up  to  her  room,  and  went 
up  to  enjoy  it  by  her  fire-side.  She  asked  me  to  go  up  with  her, 
which  I  did.     Grimm  afterwards  came  up.  The  little  table  was 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  IX.       1  t5t.  209 

ali'eady  set, — there  were  but  two  covers.  Supper  is  served, 
Madam  d'Epinay  sitting  down  at  one  side  of  the  fire,  whereupon 
M.  Grimm  sets  an  arm-chair  by  the  other  side,  plants  himself 
down  on  it,  draws  the  httle  table  between  them,  unfolds  his  nap- 
kin, and  prepares  to  eat,  without  saying  a  word  to  me.  Madam 
d'Epinay  blushes,  and  as  a  hint  for  him  to  make  reparation 
for  his  rudeness,  olfers  me  her  place.  He  said  nothing — did 
not  even  look  at  me.  Not  being  able  to  get  near  the  fire,  I 
walked  about  the  room  till  a  cover  was  brought  me.  He 
suffered  me,  indisposed  as  I  was,  to  sup  at  a  corner  of  the 
table,  far  away  from  the  fire,  without  showing  me  the  least 
civility — I  that  was  his  elder,  an  older  acquaintance  in  the 
family  than  himself,  I  who  had  introduced  him  there,  and  to 
whom,  as  the  favorite  of  the  lady,  if  for  no  other  considera- 
tion, he  should  have  done  the  honors  of  the  house.  This  is  a 
very  fair  sample  of  his  general  behavior  to  me.  He  did  not 
treat  me  as  his  inferior  exactly — he  regarded  me  as  nobody. 
It  was  rather  hard  for  me  to  recognize  in  him  the  whilom 
Dominie,  who,  while  in  the  employ  of  the  Prince  of  Saxe- 
Gotha,  thought  himself  honored  if  I  but  cast  my  eyes  on 
him.  And  it  was  still  harder  to  reconcile  his  profound 
silence  and  insultmg  disdain  with  the  tender  Mendship  he 
professed  to  entertain  for  me,  whenever  any  real  friend  of 
mine  was  by.  He  certainly  gave  no  proofs  of  anything  of 
that  sort,  except  pitying  my  lot,  of  which  I  did  not  complain, 
compassionating  my  sad  fortime,  with  which  I  was  satisfied, 
and  bewailing  my  obstinate  refusal  of  the  benefits  he  said  he 
wished  to  bestow  on  me.  Thus  was  it  he  artfully  contrived  to 
make  the  world  admire  his  tender  generosity,  and  blame  my  un- 
grateful misanthropy,  while  he  accustomed  people  to  imagine 
that  between  a  protector  such  as  he  and  a  ■\\Tetch  like  myself 
no  connection  could  possibly  subsist  but  that  of  benefactions 
on  the  one  side  and  obligations  on  the  other — anything  Uke 
a  friendship  between  equals  was  not  to  be  thought  of  in  this 
instance,  not  even  as  among  the  possiljilities.  For  my  part, 
I  have  sought  in  vain  to  discover  wherein  I  was  under  obli- 
gation to  this  new  patron.  I  had  lent  him  money,  he  had 
never  lent  me  any  ;  I  had  attended  him  during  his  illness, — 
he  scarcely  came  to  see  me  in  mine  ;  I  had  given  him  all  my 
friends, — he  never  gave  me  one  of  liis  ;  I  had  done  every- 
thing in  my  power  to  extol  him, — he    ...  if  he  ever  did  any- 


210  Rousseau's  confessions. 

thing  of  that  sort  for  me,  it  was  less  pubUcly  and  after  a 
quite  different  fasliion.  Never  did  he  either  render  or  offer 
me  the  least  service  of  any  kind  whatever.  How  then  was 
he  my  Mectenas  ?  How  was  I  his  protegee  ?  It  passed  my 
power  of  comprehension, — it  passes  it  yet. 

True,  he  was  more  or  less  arrogant  with  everybody ; 
but  with  no  one  so  brutally  as  with  me.  I  remember  once, 
Saint-Lambert  came  near  throwing  his  plate  at  his  head  on 
his,  in  a  manner,  giving  him  the  he  before  the  whole  table 
by  vulgarly  saying  :  That  is  not  true.  To  his  naturally  im- 
perious ways  he  added  the  self-suflBciency  of  an  upstart  and 
became  ridiculous  by  his  very  impertinence.  His  intercom'se 
with  the  quality  had  so  seduced  him  that  he  assumed  au'S 
which  only  the  most  senseless  of  this  tribe  put  on.  He  never 
called  his  lackey  but  by  Hey  !  as  though  amid  the  train  of 
his  retainers  my  lord  did  not  know  which  was  on  duty  at  the 
time.  When  he  sent  him  to  buy  anything,  he  would  pitch 
the  money  on  the  floor  instead  of  givmg  it  into  his  hands. 
In  short,  quite  forgetting  he  was  a  man,  he  treated  him  with 
such  disgusting  contempt  and  cruel  disdain  in  everything, 
that  the  poor  fellow — quite  a  good  lad,  whom  Madam 
d'Epinay  recommended  to  him — left  his  service  from  no 
other  cause  than  the  impossibiUty  of  puttuig  up  with  such 
abuse.     'T  was  the  'La  Fleur'  of  this  new  'Glorieux.' 

As  foppish  as  he  was  vain,  with  his  great  dull  eyes  and 
his  shuffling  figure,  he  had  pretensions  women-ward ;  and 
since  his  farce  with  Mile.  Fel,  he  passed  with  a  good  many 
as  a  man  of  the  largest  sentiment.  This  had  made  him 
fashionable,  and  given  him  a  taste  for  woman's  spniceness. 
He  turned  out  quite  a  buck;  his  toilet  became  a  great  affair; 
everybody  knew  that  he  used  lily  white,  while  I,  that  would 
not  credit  it,  began  to  think  that  it  must  indeed  be  so,  not 
only  from  the  lustre  of  his  complexion  and  from  having  found 
pots  of  white  powder  on  his  toilet-table,  but  from  the  fact 
that,  having  gone  into  his  room  one  morning,  I  found  him 
brushing  away  at  his  nails  with  a  little  brush  made  on  pur- 
pose, an  operation  he  continued  with  a  most  complacent 
smirk  in  my  jjreseuce.  I  judged  that  a  man  that  could  pass 
two  hours  every  morning  in  brushing  his  nails,  would  not 
scruple  to  spend  a  few  minutes  in  filling  up  the  cracks  in  his 
skin  with  white  powder.     The  good  man  Gaufifecourt,  who 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  IX.       1751.  211 

was  no  sac  a  diable  had  pleasantly  enough  christened  him 
Tyran-le-Blauc  (Tyrant  the  White.) 

These  were  but  ridiculous  trifles  to  be  sure,  yet  not  in 
the  run  of  my  nature,  and  they  gave  force  to  the  suspicions 
I  had  already  entertained  touching  his  character.  It  was 
hard  for  me  to  beheve  that  a  man  whose  head  thus  played 
him  the  fool  could  be  just  right  at  heart.  There  was  noth- 
ing he  piqued  himself  upon  so  much  as  sensibility  of  soi«i 
and  depth  of  sentiment.  How  could  these  accord  with  char- 
acteristics only  meet  for  httle  minds  ?  How  was  it  that  the 
constant  flights  a  fine  soul  is  ever  making  out  of  itself  could 
aUow  him  to  be  eternally  busied  about  so  many  little  cares 
regarding  his  little  person  ?  God  I  the  man  that  feels  his 
heart  inflamed  with  this  celestial  fire  seeks  to  exhale  it  and 
reveal  his  inmost  soul !  He  would  wear  his  heart  in  his 
face, — no  other  paint  would  ever  enter  his  head. 

I  recollect  the  epitome  of  his  code  of  morals  ;  Madam 
d'Epinay  had  adopted  it  and  she  told  me.  This  summary 
consists  in  a  single  article,  namely,  that  the  sole  duty  of 
man  is  to  follow  in  everything  the  inclinations  of  his  heart. 
This  '  moral  law,'  when  I  at  first  heard  it,  gave  rise  to 
some  terrible  reflections  in  my  mind,  though  I  took  it  at  the 
time  for  a  mere  jeu  d'esprit.  It  was  not  long,  however, 
before  I  perceived  that  this  principle  was  really  the  rule  of 
his  conduct,  as  I  had  but  too  many  convincing  jjroofs,  to 
my  own  expense.  This  is  the  '  iuterior  doctrine '  whereof 
Diderot  so  often  spoke  to  me,  but  which  he  never  ex- 
plained. 

1  remembered  the  frequent  warnings  I  had  got,  years 
before,  that  this  man  was  false,  that  he  was  but  acting 
sentiment,  and  particularly  that  he  did  not  love  me.  I  re- 
called several  little  anecdotes  M.  de  Francueil  and  Madam 
de  Chcnonceaux  had  told  me  on  this  head.  By  the  way, 
neither  of  them  liked  him,  though  they  must  have  known 
him,  as  Madam  de  Chenouceaux  was  a  daughter  of  Madam 
de  Roehechouart,  an  intimate  friend  of  the  late  Count 
Friese,  and  as  M.  de  Francueil,  then  very  intimate  with 
Viscount  Polignac,  had  frequented  the  Palais  Royal,  a 
great  deal  precisely  when  Grimm  began  to  get  introduced 
there.  All  Paris  knew  of  his  despair  after  the  death  of 
Count  Friese.     The  object  was  to  sustain  the  reputation  he 


212  Rousseau's  confessions. 

had  gained  after  the  rigors  of  Mile.  Fel,  and  the  balder- 
dash of  which  I  might  have  seen  through  more  readily  than 
any  one,  had  I  been  less  blind  at  the  time.  He  had  to  be 
dragged  to  the  hotel  de  Castries,  where  he  played  his  part  to 
perfection,  abandoned  to  the  most  mortal  affliction.  There, 
every  moruing,  he  went  into  the  garden  to  weep  at  his  ease, 
covering  his  eyes  with  his  tear-bathed  handkerchief,  as  long 
as  he  was  in  sight  of  the  hotel  ;  but  at  the  turning  of  a 
certain  alley,  people  he  little  thought  of  saw  him  instantly 
clap  his  handkerchief  into  his  pocket  and  pull  out  a  book. 
This  observation,  which  was  repeatedly  made,  soon  became 
public  throughout  the  whole  of  Paris,  and  was  almost  as  soon 
forgotten.  I  had  forgotten  it  myself ;  a  fact  in  which  I 
was  concerned  served  to  call  it  to  mind.  I  was  at  the 
point  of  death  in  my  bed,  in  rue  Grenelle  :  he  was  in  the 
country.  One  morning  he  came  rushing  in  out  of  breath, 
saying  he  had  just  arrived  in  town  that  very  moment  ; — a 
moment  afterwards  I  learned  he  had  arrived  the  evening 
before,  and  had  been  seen  that  night  at  the  theatre. 

A  thousand  facts  of  this  sort  came  to  my  mind  ;  how- 
beit  an  observation  I  was  surprised  to  have  made  so  late 
struck  me  more  than  all  else.  All  my  friends  without  ex- 
ception had  I  given  Grimm — all  had  become  his.  So  hard 
was  it  for  me  to  be  separated  from  him  that  it  would  have  been 
dilhcult  for  me  to  have  continued  visiting  at  a  house  where 
he  was  not  received.  Tliere  was  but  Madam  de  Crequi 
that  refused  to  admit  him,  and  her  too,  from  that  time 
forth,  I  almost  wholly  ceased  going  to  see.  Grimm,  for  his 
part,  made  him  other  friends,  as  well  through  avenues  open 
to  him  as  though  the  introductions  of  Count  Friese.  Of 
all  these  friends  never  one  became  mine  ;  never  a  word  did 
he  say  to  induce  me  to  make  their  acquaintance  even,  and  of 
the  various  persons  I  at  times  met  at  his  house  not  a  single 
one  showed  me  the  smallest  kindness  or  good  will,  not  even 
Count  Friese,  with  whom  he  lived,  and  with  whom  it  would 
of  course  have  been  very  agreeable  for  me  to  have  become 
acquainted  ;  nor  yet  his  relative  Count  Schomberg,  with 
whom  Grimm  was  still  more  intimate. 

Further :  my  own  friends,  whom  I  made  his,  and  who 
were  all  tenderly  attached  to  me  before  this  acquaintance, 
sensibly   changed  in   their   conduct  towards   me   after  it 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  IX.      1757.  213 

was  made.  He  never  gave  me  any  of  his  ;  I  gave  him  all 
mine,  and  he  ended  by  taking  them  all  from  me.  If  these  be 
the  fruits  of  friendship  what  then  must  be  the  fruits  of  hate? 

At  first,  Diderot  himself  repeatedly  warned  me  that 
Grimm,  in  whom  I  placed  so  much  confidence,  was  no  friend 
to  me.  Afterwards,  when  in  the  course  of  things  he  had 
ceased  to  be  so  himself,  he  changed  his  language. 

The  manner  in  which  I  had  disposed  of  my  children  was 
a  matter  that  concerned  nobody  but  myself.  And  yet  I 
told  several  of  my  friends  of  it,  sm3|Dly  for  the  sake  of  telling 
them,  and  not  to  appear  better  m  their  eyes  than  I  was. 
These  friends  were  three  in  number — Diderot,  Grimm,  and 
Madam  d'Epinay.  Duclos,  worthier  than  any  of  my  confi- 
dence, was  the  only  one  I  did  not  intrust  it  to.  He  learned  it, 
however  :  by  whom — ?  I  know  not.  It  is  hardly  possible 
that  Madam  d'Epinay  was  guilty  of  this  infidelity,  as  she 
must  have  been  well  aware  that  if  I  could  bring  myself  to 
imitate  her,  I  had  means  in  my  power  of  the  most  terrible 
revenge.  There  remain  Grimm  and  Diderot,  then  so  closely 
united  in  everything  and  especially  so  agamst  me,  that  it  is 
more  than  probable  they  were  partners  in  the  crime.  I 
could  bet  that  Duclos,  to  whom  I  did  not  tell  my  secret,  and 
who  was  consequently  free  to  make  what  use  he  pleased  of 
it,  is  the  only  person  that  has  kept  it. 

Grimm  and  Diderot,  in  then*  project  for  depriving  me  of 
the  '  governesses,'  had  tried  very  hard  to  get  him  to  enter 
into  their  views  ; — he  always  repulsed  them  with  disdain.  It 
was  not  till  afterwards  that  I  learned  from  hun  all  that  had 
passed  between  them  on  this  subject  ;  but  even  at  the  tune 
I  got  enough  from  Therese  to  see  that  there  was  some  secret 
design  in  all  this,  and  that  they  wanted  to  dispose  of  me,  if 
not  against  my  will,  at  least  without  my  knowledge,  or  else 
that  they  intended  using  these  two  persons  as  tools  towards 
some  hidden  end.  This  conduct  was  certainly  not  upright. 
Duclos'  opposition  clearly  proves  it  so.  Let  him  think  it 
friendship  that  wUl. 

This  pretended  friendship  was  as  fatal  to  me  at  home  as 
it  was  abroad.  Their  long  and  frequent  conferences  with 
Madam  Le  Yasseur,  for  several  years  back,  had  made  a  sen- 
sible change  in  this  woman's  behavior  towards  me,  and  the 
change  was  certainly  not  in  my  favor.     What  in  the  world 


214  Rousseau's  confessions. 

could  they  have  to  talk  about  in  those  strange  interviews. 
Why  that  profound  mystery  ?  Was  that  old  wife's  gab  so 
agreeable  as  to  induce  them  to  take  her  into  their  favor,  and 
so  unportant  that  they  had  to  keep  it  a  tremendous  secret  ? 
During  the  three  or  four  years  these  colloquies  continued, 
they  had  appeared  to  me  simply  ridiculous  :  when  I  then 
thought  over  them,  however,  they  astonished  me.  This 
astonishment  would  have  increased  to  disquietude,  had  I 
then  known  what  this  woman  was  preparing  for  me. 

Notwithstanding  the  pretended  zeal  for  my  welfare  whereof 
Grimm  had  made  such  a  boast  in  public — a  boast  that  ill- 
agreed  with  the  airs  he  assumed  when  we  were  alone  togeth- 
er :  I  could  hear  of  nothing  he  had  said  or  done  to  my 
advantage  ;  and  the  commiseration  he  feigned  to  feel  for 
me  tended  less  to  serve,  than  to  degrade  me.  Nay,  he  even 
did  all  he  could  to  prevent  my  getting  along  in  the  pursuit  I 
had  chosen,  by  decrying  me  as  a  bad  copyist :  (in  this  I  con- 
fess he  spoke  the  truth  ;  but  it  was  not  for  him  to  say  it). 
That  he  was  not  in  fun,  he  very  plainly  proved  by  employing 
another  copyist,  and  influencing  everybody  he  could  to  do 
the  same.  His  aim  seemingly  was  to  reduce  me  to  depend- 
ence on  him  and  his  credit  for  my  subsistence,  and  to  this 
end  to  stop  all  source  of  supphes  until  I  should  be  brought 
to  the  desired  pass. 

All  this  taken  into  consideration,  my  reason  at  length 
silenced  my  old  prepossession,  which  still  pleaded  in  his  favor. 
I  judged  his  character  as  at  best  doubtful  ;  and  as  for  his 
friendship,  I  decided  it  as  most  positively  false.  Having  re- 
solved to  see  him  no  more,  I  informed  Madam  d'Epinay  of 
my  determination,  supporting  it  by  various  unanswerable  facts 
that  I  have  now  forgotten. 

She  earnestly  combatted  my  resolution,  without  very 
well  knowing  what  to  say  to  the  reasons  on  which  it  was 
founded.  She  had  not  as  yet  concerted  with  him  ;  but,  the 
day  following,  instead  of  giving  me  a  verbal  explanation,  she 
put  into  my  bauds  a  very  adroit  letter  they  had  drawn  up 
together,  wherein,  without  at  all  entering  into  the  facts  of 
the  matter,  she  justified  him,  ou  account  of  his  concentra- 
tive,  meditative  disposition,  and,  attributing  to  me  as  a  crime 
my  having  suspected  him  of  perfidy  towards  his  friend,  she 
exhorted  me  to  come  to  an  accommodation  with  him.     This 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  IX.       IISI.  215 

letter  staggered  me  ;  and  in  a  conversatioa  we  afterwards 
had  together,  and  in  which  I  found  her  better  prepared  than 
she  had  been  the  first  time,  I  suffered  myself  to  be  quite  pre- 
vailed upon.  I  came  to  beUeve  that  I  might  have  judged 
unjustly,  and  that  m  this  case  I  had  to  repair  a  serious  m- 
jury  done  a  friend.  In  short,  as  I  had  already  done  several 
times  over  with  Diderot,  as  also  with  Baron  d'Holbach,  half 
from  inchnation  and  half  from  weakness,  I  made  the  very 
advances  1  ought  to  have  exacted  :  I  went  to  Grimm's  like 
another  George  Dandin  and  apologized  for  offences  he  had 
done  me,  acting  in  this  matter  in  a  false  persuasion  of  mine 
that  has  made  me  in  the  com'se  of  my  life  go  through  a 
thousand  meannesses  when  I  had  to  do  with  my  pretended 
friends — namely,  that  there  is  no  hatred  that  may  not  be 
disarmed  by  mildness  and  kind  behavior  ;  whereas,  on  the 
contrary,  the  hatred  of  the  wicked  becomes  but  more  enven- 
omed by  the  impossibility  of  finding  any  foundation  for  it  ; 
and  the  consciousness  of  then"  own  injustice  but  adds  new 
bitterness  to  their  spite.  I  have,  ^s-ithout  going  beyond  my- 
self, a  very  striking  proof  of  this  prmciple  in  Grimm  and  in 
Tronchin,  become  my  two  most  implacable  enemies.  Such 
was  then:  inchnation,  such  then-  pleasure,  their  whhn,  for 
certainly  they  never  could  aUege  a  single  wi'ong  of  any  kind 
I  ever  did  either  of  them  ;  *  and  yet  their  rage  increases 
day  by,  day  like  that  ol  a  tiger  by  the  very  facility  they  find  in 
satiating  it. 

I  was  expecting  that  Grimm,  thrown  off  his  guard  by  my 
condescension  and  advances,  would  receive  me  with  open 
arms  and  the  most  tender  amity.  He  received  me  hke  a  Roman 
Emperor,  with  an  ineffableness  of  bigness  and  pride  I  never 
saw  approached  in  living  human  being.  I  was  not  at  all 
prepared  for  such  a  reception.  Embarrassed  by  having  to 
play  a  part  so  Uttle  suited  to  my  nature,  I  in  a  few  words 
and  with  a  timid  air  fulfilled  the  object  of  my  visit ;  and 
mark  you  how,  before  receiving  me  back  to  favor,  he  pro- 

*  I  did  not  apply  the  nick  name  of  Juggler  to  the  latter  [Tronchin] 
till  long  after  his  declared  enmity  and  long  after  the  bloody  persecutions 
he  raised  against  me  in  Geneva  and  elsewhere.  Nay,  I  even  suppressed 
the  epithet  whenever  I  perceived  I  was  entirely  his  victim.  Mean  ven- 
geance is  unworthy  my  heart,  and  hatred  never  takes  the  least  root 
therein. 


216  Rousseau's  confessions. 

nounced,  with  a  deal  of  majesty,  a  long  harangue  he  had 
prepared  for  the  occasion,  wherein  he  ran  through  the  long 
schedule  of  his  virtues,  and  especially  his  shining  qualities  in 
the  matter  of  friendship.  He  laid  great  stress  on  a  thing 
that  struck  me  a  good  deal  at  first — namely,  that  he  was  al- 
ways seen  to  keep  the  same  friends.  Whilst  he  was  discant- 
ing  away,  I  muttered  that  it  would  be  very  hard  of  me  to 
break  in  on  this  rule  and  become  the  sole  exception  thereto. 
He  returned  to  this  so  often  and  with  such  affectation,  that 
he  called  up  the  thought  in  my  mind,  that  if  in  this  he  had  fol- 
lowed but  the  dictates  of  his  heart,  he  would  not  have  been 
so  struck  by  this  principle  ;  he  seemed  to  turn  it  to  a  useful 
account  by  procuring  means  for  the  accomplishment  of  his 
views.  Hitherto  this  had  been  precisely  the  case  with  me — 
I  had  always  preserved  all  my  friends  ;  from  my  earliest 
childhood  I  had  not  lost  one,  unless  by  death,  and  yet  I  had 
never  thought  of  it :  it  had  never  grown  out  to  a  detached 
mental  fact  or  become  a  maxim  I  prescribed  for  myself.  Since, 
then,  this  was  an  advantage  common  at  the  time  to  both  of 
us,  why  did  he  choose  to  brag  about  it,  if  he  had  not  been 
thinking  beforehand  of  depriving  me  thereof  ?  He  after- 
wards endeavored  to  humble  me  by  proofs  of  the  preference 
our  common  friends  gave  him  over  me.  Of  this  I  was  as 
well  aware  as  himself ;  the  question  was  how  he  had  obtained 
it, — whether  it  was  by  merit  or  by  craft,  by  raising  himself, 
or  by  abasing  me  ?  At  last,  after  he  had,  to  his  heart's 
content,  put  all  possible  distance  between  us,  so  as  to  mag- 
nify the  value  of  the  favor  he  was  about  to  confer,  he 
bestowed  on  me  the  kiss  of  peace,  in  a  slight  embrace,  some- 
thing like  the  accolade  the  king  gives  newly-dubbed  knights. 
I  was  dumbfounded  :  I  knew  not  what  to  say — not  a  word 
could  I  utter.  The  whole  scene  looked  like  a  preceptor  re- 
primanding his  pupil,  meanwhile  graciously  sparing  the  rod. 
I  never  think  of  it  without  feeling  how  deceitful  are  judg- 
ments founded  on  appearances — those  jugments  to  which  the 
vulgar  attach  so  much  weight — and  how  often  audacity  and 
pride  characterize  the  guilty,  shame  and  embarrassment  the 
innocent. 

We  were  reconciled  ;  'twas  always  a  relief  to  my  heart, 
which  any  thing  like  a  quarrel  fills  with  mortal  anguish.  As 
may  easily  be  supposed,  such  a  reconciliation  made  no  change 


PERIOD  11.       BOOK  IX,       115t.  217 

ill  his  conduct ;  it  but  deprived  me  of  the  right  to  complain : 
so  I  determined  to  endure  all  and  say  nothing. 

So  many  woes,  falling  thick  and  fast,  so  overwhelmed  me 
as  scarcely  to  leave  me  strength  enough  to  resume  command 
of  myself.  No  answer  from  Saint-Lambert,  neglected  by 
Madam  d'Houdetot,  and  without  courage  to  open  myself  to 
any  one,  I  began  to  fear  that  in  making  friendship  my  heart's 
idol  I  had  spent  my  life  in  sacrificing  to  a  phantom.  Brought 
to  the  test,  there  remained  of  all  my  connections  but  two 
men  that  had  to  the  full  preserved  my  esteem  and  in  whom 
my  heart  could  confide — Duclos,  whom,  since  my  retu'ement 
to  the  Hermitage,  I  had  lost  sight  of,  and  Saint-Lam- 
bert. I  thought  the  only  means  of  repairing  the  wrongs  I 
had  done  the  latter  was  to  open  my  heart  unreservedly  to 
him  ;  and  I  resolved  to  make  a  full  confession  to  him, 
keeping  back  only  what  might  compromise  his  mistress. 
I  have  no  doubt  this  determination  was  a  new  snare  of  my 
passion  to  bring  me  closer  to  her  ;  but  it  is  no  less  the  case 
that  I  would  have  thrown  myself  unreservedly  into  the  hands 
of  her  lover,  submitting  entirely  to  his  control,  and  carrying 
sincerity  as  far  as  it  was  possible  for  it  to  go.  I  was  just  on 
the  point  of  wi'iting  him  a  second  letter,  which  I  felt  very 
certain  he  would  answer,  when  I  learned  the  sad  cause  of  his 
silence  relative  to  the  first.  He  had  been  unable  to  bear  up 
under  the  fatigues  of  the  campaign.  Madam  d'Epinay  in- 
formed me  he  had  just  had  a  stroke  of  palsy  ;  and  Madam 
d'Houdetot,  whom  her  affliction  had  at  length  prostrated 
also,  and  who  consequently  was  unable  to  write  to  me  imme- 
diately, sent  me  word  three  days  afterwards  from  Paris, 
where  she  then  was,  that  he  was  going  to  be  conveyed  to 
Aix-la-Chapelle  for  the  benefit  of  the  baths.  I  do  not  say 
that  this  sad  news  was  as  afflictive  to  me  as  to  her,  but  I 
doubt  whether  the  anguish  of  heart  it  gave  me  was  less  pain- 
ful than  were  her  grief  and  tears.  The  pain  of  knowing  that 
he  was  in  this  state,  augmented  by  the  fear  least  disquietude 
should  have  contributed  to  occasion  it,  afflicted  me  more  than 
all  that  had  happened  as  yet,  and  I  bitterly  felt  that,  in  my 
own  estimation,  I  was  wanting  in  the  fortitude  necessary  to 
enable  me  to  bear  up  under  so  many  trials.  Happily  my 
generous  friend  cUd  not  long  leave  me  thus  overwhelmed  ; 
he  did  not  forget  me,  notwithstanding  his  attack,  and  I  soon 
II.  10 


218  Rousseau's  confessions. 

learnt  from  himself  that  I  had  quite  misjudged  both  his  sen- 
timents and  his  situation. 

But  'tis  time  I  should  come  to  the  grand  turning- 
point  of  my  destiny,  to  the  catastrophe  that  divides  my  life 
into  two  such  different  parts,  and  which  from  so  sUght  a 
cause  has  produced  such  terrible  effects. 

One  day,  when  such  a  summons  was  the  last  thing  in 
my  head,  Madam  d'Epinay  sent  for  me  to  come  and  see  her. 
On  entering,  I  perceived  in  her  eyes  and  on  her  whole 
countenance  an  appearance  of  uneasiness  that  struclc  me  all 
the  more  forcibly  as  it  was  not  usual  with  her,  nobody 
knowing  better  than  she  did  how  to  govern  her  countenance 
and  movements.  "  My  friend,"  said  she  to  me,  "  I  am 
going  to  set  out  for  Geneva  ;  my  lungs  are  in  a  bad  state, 
and  my  health  is  failing  to  such  a  degree  that  I  must  leave 
everything  else  aside,  and  go  and  consult  Ti'onchiu.  This 
resolution  so  suddenly  made,  and  at  the  beginning  of  the 
inclement  season  of  the  year,  astonished  me  all  the  more 
as  I  had  left  her  thirty-six  hours  before,  when  there  was  not  a 
word  said  on  the  subject.  I  asked  her  whom  she  was 
going  to  take  with  her.  She  said  she  would  take  her  son 
and  M.  de  Linant ;  and  then  she  added  carelessly,  "  And 
you,  my  Bear,  wont  you  come,  too  ?"  As  I  did  not  dream 
she  was  in  earnest,  knowing,  as  she  did,  that  in  the  season 
of  the  year  we  were  now  entering  upon,  I  was  scarce  able 
to  leave  my  room,  I  joked  on  the  utility  of  one  sick  person's 
escorting  another.  She  herself  did  not  seem  to  have  made 
the  proposition  seriously,  so  here  the  matter  dropped.  The 
remainder  of  our  conversation  ran  upon  the  necessary  pi"e- 
parations  for  her  journey,  about  which  she  was  busying 
herself,  having  determined  to  set  out  in  a  fortnight. 

I  did  not  need  any  very  great  penetration  to  perceive 
that  there  was  some  secret  motive  for  this  journey  I  was 
not  told  about.  This  secret — and  by  the  way  it  was  such 
to  nobody  in  the  house  but  myself — came  out  next  day. 
Teissier  the  steward  got  it  from  the  fcmme  de  chamhre  ; 
he  told  it  to  Therese  and  Thcrese  told  me.  Though  I  do 
not  owe  this  secret  to  Madam  d'Epinay,  since  I  got  it  from 
another  source,  yet  it  is  too  closely  connected  with  those 
from  whom  I  did  get  it  for  me  to  make  free  with  it,  so  I 
shall  remain  silent  on  this  head.     But  her  secrets  which 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  IX.      1751.  219 

never  have  been  and  never  will  be  revealed  by  me  either  by 
word  or  pen,  were  known  to  too  many  for  any  of  Madam 
d'Epinay's  confidants  to  be  in  the  dark.* 

Let  into  the  true  motive  of  this  journey,  I  would  have 
recognized  the  secret  instigation  of  an  enemy's  hand  in  the 
attempt  to  get  me  to  accompany  Madam  d'Epinay  ;  but 
she  had  insisted  so  little,  that  I  persisted  in  not  regarding 
this  attempt  as  serious,  and  I  merely  laughed  at  the  fine 
figure  I  should  have  cut,  had  I  gone  on  the  expedition. 
And  besides,  she  gained  by  my  refusal,  for  she  managed  to 
get  her  husband  himself  to  accompany  her. 

A  few  days  afterwards  I  received  from  Diderot  the  note 
I  am  about  to  transcribe.  This  note,  simply  doubled  up,  so 
that  any  body  might  have  read  it,  was  addressed  to  me  at 
Madam  d'Epinay's,  in  care  of  M.  de  Linant,  the  son's  tutor 
and  the  confidant  of  the  mother. 

Note  from  Diderot,  File  A.  No.  52^ 

"  I  am  born  to  love  and  born  to  vex  you.  I  learn  that 
Madam  d'Epinay  is  going  to  Geneva,  and  do  not  hear  that 
you  are  to  accompany  her.  My  friend,  in  or  out  with 
Madam  d'Epinay,  you  must  go  with  her  :  if  in,  you  will 
go  ;  if  out,  you  must  go  all  the  more.  Are  you  burdened 
with  the  weight  of  the  obligations  you  owe  her  ?  Here  is 
an  opportunity  for  you  to  acquit  yourself  in  part  and  relieve 
your  mind.  Will  you  ever  have  another  opportunity  in  your 
life  of  making  proof  of  your  gratitude  ?  She  is  going  into 
a  country  as  new  to  her  as  it  would  be  to  an  inhabitant  of 
the  moon.  She  is  ill — will  stand  in  need  of  amusement 
and  diversion.  Winter,  too,  mind,  friend  !  The  state  of 
your  health  may  be  a  more  powerful  objection  than  I 
imagine.  But  are  you  any  worse  now  than  you  were  a 
month  ago,  or  than  you  will  be  at  the  beginning  of  spring  ? 
Will  it  be  any  easier  for  you  to  make  the  journey  three 
months  hence  than  it  is  now  ?  For  my  own  part,  1  declare 
that  if  I  could  not  bear  the  shaking  of  the  carriage,  I 
would  take  my  staff  and  follow  her  on  foot.  And  then, 
have  you  no  fear  that  your  conduct  will  be  misrepresented  ? 
You  will  be  suspected  either  of  ingratitude  or  some  other 

*  The  secret,  and  now  too  well  known  motive  of  Madam  d'Epinay's 
journey  was  her  ^rossesse,  the  fruit  of  her  liaison  with  Grimm.     Tr 


220  Rousseau's  confessions. 

secret  motive.  I  am  perfectly  well  aware  that,  do  as  you 
v/ill,  you  will  still  have  the  witness  of  your  conscience  in 
your  favor  ;  but  will  this  testimony  alone  suffice,  and  is  it 
allowable  to  be  recklessly  negligent  of  what  other  people 
think  ?  However,  what  I  write  now,  my  friend,  I  write 
simply  to  acquit  myself  of  a  debt  I  think  I  owe  both  you 
and  myself.  If  my  letter  displeases  you,  throw  it  into  the 
fire,  and  let  no  more  be  said  of  it  than  though  it  had  never 
been  written.     Greeting  and  love  to  you." 

The  tremor  of  rage,  blasting  and  blinding,  that  came 
over  me  while  reading  this  note,  and  which  scarce  permitted 
me  to  finish  it,  did  not  prevent  me  from  observing  the  art 
with  which  Diderot  afi"ected  a  milder,  kinder,  more  polite 
tone  than  was  his  habit  ;  for  in  his  letters  to  me,  he 
never  went  beyond  '  my  dear,'  whereas  now  he  deigned  to 
call  me  '  friend.'  I  easily  saw  through  the  second-hand, 
round-about  way  by  which  this  note  came  to  me — the  ad- 
dress, form  and  route  bunglingly  betrayed  the  round  it  had 
come  :  for  we  commonly  wrote  to  each  other  either  by 
the  post  or  the  Montmorency  messenger,  and  this  was  the 
first  and  only  time  he  ever  made  use  of  this  conveyance. 

As  soon  as  my  first  transport  of  indignation  was  suffici- 
ently spent  to  allow  me  to  write,  I  dashed  down  the  following 
answer,  and  immediately  went  with  it  from  the  Hermitage, 
where  I  then  was,  to  La  Chevrette  in  order  to  read  it  to 
Madam  d'Epiuay,  to  whom,  in  my  blind  rage,  I  persisted 
in  reading  both  it  and  the  note  from  Diderot. 

"It  is  impossible,  my  dear  friend,  for  you  to  know 
either  the  weight  of  the  obhgations  I  owe  Madam  d'Epinay, 
or  how  far  they  bind  me,  or  whether  she  really  needs  me  on 
her  journey,  or  whether  she  desires  me  to  accompany  her,  or 
whether  it  is  possible  for  me  to  do  so,  or  yet  the  reasons  I 
may  have  for  non-compliance.  I  have  no  objection  to  dis- 
cuss these  various  points  with  you  ;  but,  meanwhile,  you 
will  grant  me  that  to  prescribe  to  me  so  absolutely  what  I 
ouglit  to  do,  without  first  putting  yourself  in  a  position  to 
judge  touching  the  matter,  is,  my  dear  philosopher,  to  act 
very  much  like  a  fool.  The  worst  part  of  the  thing  is  that 
I  see  the  advice  is  not  original. 

I  am  not  much  in  the  humor  of  allowing  myself  to  be 
led  by  the  nose  by  any  third  or  fourth  party  under  your 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  IX.       I*l5t.  221 

name ;  and  besides,  I  discern  in  this  second-hand  advice 
certain  under-hand  dealings  that  ill  agree  with  your  candor 
and  from  which  you  will  do  well,  both  on  your  account  and 
mine,  to  abstain  in  the  future. 

You  are  afraid  my  conduct  will  be  misinterpreted  ;  but 
I  defy  a  heart  like  yours  to  think  ill  of  mine.  Others 
might,  may  be,  speak  better  of  me  did  I  resemble  them 
more  closely.  God  forbid  that  I  should  gain  their  approba- 
tion 1  Let  the  wicked  watch  over  my  conduct  and  mis- 
interpret it  to  their  hearts'  content ;  Rousseau  is  not  the 
man  to  fear  them,  nor  Diderot  the  man  to  listen  to  them. 

If  your  letter  does  not  please  me,  you  wish  me  to  throw 
it  into  the  fire  and  no  more  said  of  it.  Do  you  suppose  what 
comes  from  you  is  to  be  forgotten  so  ?  Friend  of  mme,  you 
hold  my  tears  as  cheap  in  the  pain  you  give  me  as  you  do 
my  life  and  health  in  the  cares  and  solicitude  you  exhort  me 
to  take  on  myself.  Could  you  but  break  yourself  off  from 
this,  your  friendship  would  become  dearer  to  my  heart,  and  I 
be  less  to  be  pitied." 

On  entering  Madam  d'Epinay's  room,  I  found  Grimm 
with  her.  This  delighted  me.  In  a  bold,  clear  voice  I  read 
them  my  two  letters  with  an  intrepidity  I  could  not  have 
thought  myself  capable  of ;  and  concluded  with  a  few  obser- 
vations quite  up  to  the  same  level.  This  unexpected  audacity 
on  the  part  of  a  man  ordinarily  so  backward  and  timorous 
quite  took  them  aback  and  struck  them  dumb  with  amaze- 
ment. I  saw  that  arrogant  man  lower  his  eyes,  unable  to 
stand  before  my  flashing,  fiery  look  :  but,  that  same  moment, 
deep  in  his  heart  he  swore  my  iiiin,  and  I  am  certain  they 
concerted  measures  to  that  end  before  they  separated. 

'Twas  about  this  same  time  that  I  at  last  received  Saint- 
Lambert's  answer  (File  A,  no.  5Y),  dated  still  from  Wolfen- 
butel,  a  few  days  after  the  accident  that  had  happened  to 
him.  My  letter  had  long  been  delayed  on  the  way,  hence 
the  lateness  of  his  reply.  His  answer  gave  me  the  consola- 
tion I  then  stood  so  much  in  need  of:  the  assurances  of 
friendship  and  esteem  wherewith  it  was  replete,  inspired  me 
with  courage  to  deserve  them.  Thenceforward  I  did  my 
duty ;  but  had  Saint-Lambert  proved  a  less  sensible,  less 
generous,  less  upright  man,  I  should  inevitably  have  beep 
ruined  for  ever. 


222  Rousseau's  confessions. 

The  bad  weather  was  beginning  to  set  in  and  people  be- 
gan to  quit  the  country.  Madam  d'Houdetot  sent  me  word 
of  the  day  when  she  was  coming  to  bid  adieu  to  the  valley, 
and  appointed  a  meeting  at  Eauboune.  This  happened  by 
chance  to  be  the  same  day  on  which  Madam  d'Epinay  left 
La  Chevrette  to  go  to  Paris  for  the  purpose  of  completmg 
the  preparations  for  the  journey.  Fortunately  she  set  out 
in  the  mornmg,  so  that  I  had  still  time,  after  leaving  her,  to 
go  and  dine  with  her  sister-in-law.  I  had  Saint-Lambert's 
letter  in  my  pocket,  and  I  read  it  over  several  times  while 
walking  along.  This  letter  served  me  as  an  Eegis  against 
my  weakness.  I  made,  and  I  kept  the  resolution  of  seeing 
nothing  in  Madam  d'Houdetot  but  my  amie  and  the  mistress 
of  my  friend ;  and  I  passed  four  or  five  hours  of  delicious 
intercourse  along  with  her,  infinitely  preferable,  even  as  to 
enjoyment,  to  the  feverish  paroxisms  that  used  to  come  over 
me  when  by  her.  As  she  was  all  too  well  aware  that  my 
heart  was  not  changed,  she  was  touched  by  the  efforts  I  had 
made  to  conquer  myself :  for  this  she  esteemed  me  all  the 
more,  and  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  that  her  friendship 
for  me  was  not  yet  extinct.  She  told  me  of  the  approaching 
return  of  Saint-Lambert  who,  though  pretty  well  recovered 
from  hLs  attack,  was  unfit  to  bear  the  fatigues  of  the  war, 
and  was  quitting  the  service  to  come  and  five  quietly  with 
her.  We  formed  the  charming  project  of  a  close  intimacy 
between  us  three  ;  and  we  had  reason  to  hope  that  the  reali- 
zation of  this  project  would  be  all  the  more  lasting  as  it 
was  to  be  based  on  every  sentiment  that  can  unite  honest 
and  susceptible  hearts,  and  as  we  had  amongst  the  three  of 
us  culture  and  talent  enough  to  do  without  any  assistance 
from  foreign  sources.  Alas  I  httle  did  I  dream,  while  in- 
dulging in  the  hope  of  so  sweet  a  hfe,  of  the  du'e  lot  that 
awaited  me  ! 

Then  we  talked  of  the  relations  between  Madam  d'Epinay 
and  myself.  I  showed  her  Diderot's  letter,  as  also  my  reply, 
relating  everything  that  had  passed  touching  the  matter,  and 
declaring  to  her  my  resolution  of  quitting  the  Hermitage. 
This  she  vehemently  opposed,  and  by  reasons  all-powerful 
over  my  heart.  She  told  me  how  much  she  couUl  have 
wished  I  had  gone  to  Geneva,  foreseeing  how  she  would  in- 
evitably be  compromised  in  my  refusal,  a  forebodmg  Diderot's 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  IX.      IT57.  223 

letter  seemed,  even  now  to  justify.  However,  as  she  knew 
my  reasons  as  well  as  I  did,  she  did  not  insist  on  this  point ; 
but  she  conjured  me  to  avoid  all  open  rupture,  let  it  cost 
me  what  it  would,  and  to  palliate  my  refusals  by  reasons 
plausible  enough  to  remove  all  unjust  suspicion  of  her  having 
had  any  part  therein.  I  told  her  she  was  imposmg  no  easy 
task  on  me ;  but  that,  resolved  to  expiate  my  sms,  though 
at  the  expense  of  my  reputation,  I  would  certainly  give  the 
preference  to  hers  in  everything  honor  would  permit  me  to 
endure.   Whether  or  no  I  kept  my  promise  will  soon  be  seen. 

Far  from  my  uuhappy  passion's  having  bated  a  jot  of 
its  force,  I  swear  I  never  loved  my  Sophia  so  deeply,  so 
tenderly  as  that  day.  But  such  was  the  unpression  Saint- 
Lambert's  letter  produced  on  me,  so  profound  was  my  sense 
of  duty  and  my  horror  of  perfidy,  that  during  this  whole  in- 
terview, my  passions  left  me  entu'ely  at  peace,  and  I  was  not 
even  tempted  to  kiss  her  hand.  At  parting  she  embraced 
me  before  her  servants.  This  kiss,  so  different  from  those  I 
used  to  steal  from  her  under  the  foliage,  was  an  assurance  to 
me  that  I  had  again  got  command  over  myself ;  and  I  am 
almost  sure  that  had  my  heart-wounds  had  time  and  calm  to 
close,  it  would  not  have  taken  thi'ee  mouths  to  have  efiected 
a  radical  cure. 

Here  end  my  personal  connections  with  Madam  d'Hou- 
detot  . . .  ;  connections  whereof  every  one  has  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  judging  by  appearances,  according  to  the  prompt- 
ings of  his  own  heart,  but  m  which  the  passion  with  which 
that  lovely  woman  inspired  me,  a  passion  the  profoundest 
ever  mortal  felt,  will  ever  be  worthy  of  honor  in  our  eyes  and 
in  the  sight  of  heaven,  from  the  rare  and  painful  sacrifices 
made  by  both  of  us  to  Duty,  Honor,  Love,  Friendship.  Far 
too  loftily  did  we  think  of  each  other  easily  to  degrade  our- 
selves. We  must  have  been  unworthy  of  all  esteem  to  have 
brought  om'selves  to  destroy  an  esteem  so  priceless,  and  it 
was  the  very  energy  of  those  feelmgs  that  might  have  ren- 
dered us  culpable  that  prevented  om-  becoming  so. 

Thus  was  it  that,  after  so  long  a  friendship  for  one  of 
these  women  and  so  deep  a  love  for  the  other,  I  bade  them 
both  adieu  the  same  day  :  the  one  I  never  afterwards  saw 
in  my  life  ;  the  other  I  saw  twice  or  thrice,  on  occasions 
hereafter  to  be  mentioned. 


224  Rousseau's  confessions 

After  their  departure,  I  felt  greatly  embarrassed  as  to 
how  I  would  go  through  with  the  many  pressing  and  anta- 
gonistic duties  my  imprudence  had  given  rise  to.  Had  I 
been  in  my  natural  condition,  after  the  proposal  of  the  jour- 
ney to  Geneva  and  my  refusal,  I  would  have  had  but  to 
have  remained  quiet,  and  all  would  have  been  right.  But  I 
had,  like  a  fool,  gone  and  made  an  affair  out  of  it  that  could 
not  remain  in  the  state  it  was  in  ;  and  I  must  either  come  to 
an  explanation  or  leave  the  Hermitage,  which  I  had  just 
promised  Madam  d'Houdetot  I  would  not  do,  at  least  for 
the  present.  Besides,  she  had  required  of  me  that  I  should 
give  my  pretended  friends  to  understand  the  reasons  of  my 
refusal  to  go,  so  that  they  might  not  impute  it  to  her.  Now, 
I  could  not  state  the  true  reason  without  outraging  Madam 
d'Epinay,  who  certainly  well  deserved  my  gratitude,  consider- 
ing all  she  had  done  for  me.  All  things  considered,  I  found 
myself  reduced  to  the  hard  but  indispensible  alternative  of 
wronging  either  Madam  d'Epinay,  Madam  d'Houdetot,  or 
myself  ;  and  I  determined  on  the  last  course.  I  determined 
on  it  boldly,  unreservedly,  unhesitatingly,  and  with  a  gener- 
osity that  might  surely  have  well  washed  out  the  sins  that 
had  reduced  me  to  this  extremity.  This  sacrifice,  which  my 
enemies  have  known  how  to  take  advantage  of,  and  which 
they  did  not  expect,  perhaps,  became  the  ruin  of  my  reputa- 
tion, and,  by  their  care  and  assistance,  deprived  me  of  the 
esteem  of  the  public  ;  but  it  has  restored  me  my  own,  and 
been  a  consolation  to  me  amid  my  misfortunes.  As  will 
hereafter  appear,  this  was  not  the  last  time  I  made  such 
sacrifices,  nor  yet  the  last  time  advantage  was  taken  of  these 
very  sacrifices  to  work  my  ruin. 

Grimm  was  the  only  person  that  appeared  to  have  taken 
no  part  in  this  affair,  and  it  was  to  him  I  determined  to  ad- 
dress myself.  I  wrote  him  a  long  letter,  in  which  I  set  forth 
the  al)surdity  of  considering  this  journey  to  Geneva  as  a 
duty  imposed  on  me,  the  uselessuess  of  it,  any  way,  the 
trouble  1  would  have  been  to  Madam  d'Epinay,  and  the  in- 
convenience it  would  have  caused  myself.  Nor  could  I,  in 
this  letter,  resist  the  temptation  of  letting  him  see  I  knew 
how  things  stood,  and  that  it  seemed  to  me  very  singular 
tiiat  they  should  pretend  /ought  to  undertake  the  journey 
whilst  he  stirred  not  a  step,  and  his  name  was  never  men- 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  IX.     1151.  225 

tioned  in  the  matter.  This  letter,  wherein,  from  my  want 
of  being  able  to  state  mj  reasons  clearly,  I  was  often  obliged 
to  beat  around  the  bush,  would  have  rendered  me  very  cul- 
pable in  the  eyes  of  the  public  ;  but  it  was  a  model  of  reserved- 
ness  and  discretion  for  such  as,  like  Grimm,  were  acquainted 
with  the  things  I  did  not  mention,  and  which  abundantly 
justified  my  conduct.  I  did  not  even  hesitate  raising  another 
prejudice  against  myself,  by  attributing  Diderot's  advice  to 
my  other  friends,  so  as  to  insinuate  that  Madam  d'Houdetot 
had  thought  the  same,  as  was  but  true,  keepmg  back,  how- 
ever, that,  from  the  reasons  I  gave  her,  she  had  changed 
her  mind.  I  could  not  better  remove  the  suspicion  of  her 
having  connived  at  my  proceedings,  than  by  appearing  to  be 
dissatisfied  with  her  conduct  on  this  head. 

This  letter  concluded  with  a  mark  of  confidence  that 
would  have  touched  any  other  man  :  for,  after  desiring 
Grimm  to  weigh  my  reasons  and  then  give  me  his  advice, 
I  told  him  that  I  woukl  follow  it,  be  it  what  it  might.  And 
this  I  would  have  done,  even  had  he  decided  on  my  depar- 
ture ;  for  M.  d'Epinay  having  undertaken  to  escort  his 
wife,  my  going  would  then  have  assumed  a  very  different 
appearance  ;  whereas  it  was  I  that,  in  the  first  place,  was 
asked  to  take  upon  me  this  employment,  and  nothing  was 
said  of  him  until  after  my  refusal. 

Grimm's  answer  was  long  in  coming  :  it  was  a  curious 
affair.     I  shall  transcribe  it  here.     (File  A,  No.  59.) 

"  Madam  d'Epinay's  departure  is  postponed,  as  her  son 
is  ill  :  she  will  wait  his  recovery.  I'll  think  over  your  let- 
ter. Keep  quiet  in  your  Hermitage.  I  shall  send  you  my 
opinion  in  time.  As  she  will  certainly  not  set  out  for  sev- 
eral days,  there  is  no  hurry.  Meanwhile,  you  might,  if  you 
think  fit,  make  her  your  offer  to  accompany  her,  although 
really  I  don't  think  it  makes  any  difference.  For,  as  she 
is  just  as  Avell  aware  of  your  state  as  you  are  yourself,  I 
have  not  the  least  doubt  but  that  she  will  return  such  an 
answer  to  your  offer  as  she  ought  to  ;  and  all  the  advan- 
tage that  can,  as  I  see,  result  from  this  course,  will  be 
that  you  can  tell  anybody  that  may  importune  you,  that  if 
you  did  not  accompany  the  party,  it  was  not  for  want  of 
offering  to  do  so.  By  the  way,  I  do  not  see  why  you  per- 
il. 10* 


226  BOUSSEAU'S  CONFESSIONS. 

sist  in  making  'the  philosopher'*  the  speaking-trumpet 
for  everybody  else,  nor  because  lie  is  of  opiuiou  that  you 
should  go,  why  you  imagine  all  your  friends  pretend  the 
same  thing.  If  you  write  to  Madam  d'Epinay,  her  answer 
will  serve  as  a  reply  to  these  friends,  since  you  have  it  so 
much  at  heart  to  give  them  one.  Adieu ;  regards  to 
Madam  Le  Vasseur  and  '  le  Crimiuel.'  "  f 

Struck  with  amazement  on  reading  this  letter,  I  anx- 
iously endeavored  to  discover  what  it  meant,  but  in  vain. 
How  I  in  place  of  answering  me  with  simplicity,  he  must 
needs  take  time  to  think  over  it,  as  though  he  had  not 
taken  time  enough  already  !  He  even  intimates  the  sus- 
pense he  wishes  to  keep  me  in,  as  though  it  were  a  pro- 
found problem  to  solve,  or  as  though  it  was  of  importance 
for  the  success  of  his  views  that  I  should  be  deprived  of 
all  means  of  getting  at  his  real  thought  till  the  time  he 
might  think  proper  to  let  me  thereinto.  What  mean  these 
precautions,  delays,  mysteries  ?  Is  this  the  way  we  meet 
confidence  reposed  in  us  ;  this  the  way  uprightness  and 
good  faith  act  ?  I  sought  in  vain  for  a  favorable  inter- 
pretation of  his  conduct, — I  could  find  none.  Whatever 
his  design  might  be,  were  it  inimical  to  me,  his  position 
facilitated  the  execution  thereof,  without  its  being  possible 
for  me,  situated  as  I  was,  to  oppose  the  least  obstacle 
thereto.  The  favorite  of  the  family  of  a  great  prince,  ex- 
tensively acquainted,  giving  the  ton  to  our  common  circles 
of  acquaintance,  whereof  he  was  the  oracle,  it  would  be  very 
easy  for  him,  with  his  wonted  address,  to  arrange  all  his 
machinery  at  his  ease  ;  while  I,  alone  in  my  Hermitage, 
far  removed  from  the  scene  of  action,  without  the  beueht 
of  advice  or  communication  with  anybody,  could  do  naught 
but  lie  by  and  wait.  All  I  did  was  to  write  Madam 
d'Epinay  as  polite  as  possible  a  letter  regarding  her  son's 
illness,  though  I  took  good  care  not  to  be  inveigled  into 
oU'ering  to  accompany  her. 

^fter  ages  of  waiting   in   the  cruel  uncertainty  into 

*  Diderot.     Tr. 

■{•  Pere  Le  Vasseur,  whom  his  wife  was  in  the  habit  of  hanflling 
rather  roughly,  used  to  call  her  lieutenant  criminel.  Grimm  applied  ihe 
same  name,  by  way  of  joke,  to  the  daughter  [|Theri;se] ;  and  as  aa 
abridgement,  it  afterwards  pleased  him  to  leave  olT  the  first  word. 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  IX.       1751.  227 

which  that  barbarous  man  had  plunged  me,  I  learned  at 
the  end  of  eight  or  ten  days,  that  Madam  d'Epiuay  had 
gone,  and  I  received  a  second  letter  from  him.     There  was 

but  seven  or  eight  lines  of  it,  I  did  not  finish  reading  it 

'Twas  a  rupture,  but  iu  such  terms  as  only  the  most  in- 
fernal hatred  could  dictate  ;  it  became  even  laughable  from 
its  bursting  spite  and  offensiveness.  He  forbade  me  his 
presence,  as  though  he  was  forbidding  me  his  States.  His 
letter  would  only  have  needed  to  have  been  read  with 
more  sang-froid  to  have  made  one  die  of  laughter.  With- 
out taking  a  copy  of  it,  without  reading  the  whole  of  it 
even,  I  instantly  sent  it  back  lo  him  enclosed  in  the  fol- 
lowing : 

"Never  till  now  would  I  give  ear  to  my  just  mistrust 
of  you  ;  I  now,  too  late,  know  you. 

"  This,  then,  is  the  letter  you  required  so  much  time 
to  meditate  over  :  I  send  it  back  to  you  ;  it  is  not  for  me. 
You  may  show  mine  to  the  whole  earth,  and  hate  me 
openly  :  do  so,  and  it  will  be  one  piece  of  duplicity  the  less 
for  you." 

My  saying  that  he  might  show  my  previous  letter  had  re- 
ference to  a  passage  in  his,  whereby  his  profound  address 
throughout  this  whole  affair  will  be  judged  of. 

I  have  observed  that,  in  the  eyes  of  persons  not  acquaint- 
ed  with  the  secret  aspects  of  the  matter,  my  letter  might 
make  me  appear  deeply  guilty.  This  he  was  deUghted  to 
discover  ;  but  how  was  he  to  take  advantage  thereof  with- 
out compromising  himself  ?  By  showing  the  letter  he  ran 
the  risk  of  being  reproached  for  abusing  his  friends  confidence. 

To  get  round  this  difficulty,  he  resolved  to  break  with  me 
after  the  most  tragical  fashion  possible,  meanwhile  claiming 
that  he  was  doing  me  a  high  favor  iu  not  showing  my  letter. 
He  felt  very  sure  that,  in  my  indignation,  I  would  spurn  his 
feigned  discretion,  and  give  him  leave  to  make  my  letter  as 
public  as  he  chose  ;  this  was  precisely  what  he  wanted,  and 
everything  turned  out  as  he  had  arranged.  He  sent  my  let- 
ter all  over  Paris,  accompanied  by  his  own  commentaries 
thereon.  His  plan  did  not,  however,  prove  quite  as  success- 
ful as  he  had  calculated.  People  persisted  in  having  it  that 
the  permission  to  show  my  letter,  which  he  had  managed  to 


228  Rousseau's  confessions 

extort  from  me,  did  not  exempt  him  from  blame  for  having 
so  lightly  taken  me  at  my  word  to  injm-e  me.  They  kept 
asking  what  personal  harm  I  had  done  him  to  authorize  so 
violent  a  hatred.  Besides,  it  was  thought  that  even  if  my 
behavior  had  been  such  as  to  oblige  him  to  break  with  me, 
still  friendship,  even  though  extinct,  had  claims  he  ought  to 
have  respected.  But  unfortunately  Paris  is  frivolous  ;  the 
thought  of  the  moment  is  soon  forgotten  ;  the  unforunate 
absent  one  is  neglected  ;  the  prosperous  man  imposes  by  his 
presence  ;  the  game  of  mtrigue  and  dupUcity  goes  on  apace, 
is  continually  renewed,  and  erelong  its  effects  obliterate  for 
ever  the  remembrance  of  the  right. 

Thus  was  it  that,  after  having  so  long  deceived  me,  this 
man  at  last  threw  aside  his  mask,  convinced  that,  considering 
the  pass  he  had  brought  things  to,  he  no  longer  stood  in  need 
of  it.  Relieved  from  the  fear  of  being  unjust  towards  the 
wretch,  I  left  him  to  his  reflections,  and  thought  no  more  of 
him.  Eight  days  after  the  receipt  of  his  letter.  Madam 
d'Epinay's  answer  to  my  previous  one  came  to  hand,  dated 
from  Geneva  (File  B,  No.  10).  I  saw,  from  the  tone  she 
assumed  therein,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  that,  counting 
on  the  success  of  their  measures,  they  were  both  acting  in 
concert,  and  that,  regarding  me  as  mevitably  ruined,  their 
intent  was  hereafter  unrestrainedly  to  give  themselves  up  to 
the  pleasure  of  completing  my  destruction. 

My  situation  was  truly  among  the  most  deplorable.  I 
saw  all  my  friends  falling  off,  without  its  being  possible  for 
me  to  understand  how  or  why  it  was  that  Diderot,  who 
boasted  of  his  sticking  to  me — that  he  alone  stuck  to  me — 
did  not  come.  Winter  was  beginning  to  set  in,  and  with  it 
came  attacks  of  my  habitual  disorder.  My  constitution, 
though  vigorous,  had  been  unequal  to  sustaining  the  combat 
of  so  many  antagonistic  passions.  I  was  in  a  state  of 
exhaustion  that  left  me  neither  strength  nor  courage  enough 
to  resist  anything.  Even  had  my  engagements,  and  had  Diderot 
and  Madam  d'Houdetot,  ceasing  their  remonstrances  to  the 
contrary,  allowed  me  at  that  time  to  leave  the  Hermitage, 
I  would  neither  have  known  where  to  go,  nor  how  to  drag 
myself  along.  I  remained  immobile  and  stupified,  unable 
cither  to  act  or  think.  The  mere  idea  of  a  step  to  be  taken, 
a  letter  to  write,  a  word  say,  made  me  tremble.     I  could  not. 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  IX.     1757.  229 

however,  bat  reply  to  Madam  d'Epinay's  letter,  unless, 
indeed,  I  was  willing  to  have  it  understood  that  I  thought 
myself  deserving  of  the  treatment  with  which  she  and  her 
friend  overwhelmed  me.  I  determined  on  notifying  her  as  to 
my  sentiments  and  resolutions,  not  doubting  for  a  moment 
that,  from  humanity,  generosity,  common  politeness,  from  the 
kind  feelings  which,  spite  of  her  unkind  ones,  I  had  thought 
her  possessed  of,  she  would  immediately  subscribe  thereto. 
Here  is  my  letter  : 

"  L'Hermitage,  Nov.  23,  1757. 

"Were  there  such  a  thing  as  dying  of  grief,  I  should  not 
be  alive.  But  my  mind  is  made  up  at  last.  Our  friend- 
ship is  extinct.  Madam ;  but  what  no  longer  exists  still  has 
its  rights,  which  I  know  how  to  respect.  I  have  not  for- 
gotten your  kindnesses  towards  me,  and  you  may  count  on 
all  the  gratitude  on  my  part  that  it  is  possible  to  entertain 
towards  one  I  must  no  more  love.  All  other  explanation 
would  be  useless  ;  for  my  part  I  have  the  witness  of  my 
conscience,  and  I  give  you  over  to  yours. 

"  I  was  about  to  quit  the  Hermitage,  and  I  ought  to  have 
done  so.  But  my  friends  pretend  I  must  stay  till  spring; 
and  since  they  so  desire  it  I  will  remain  till  spring,  if  you 
consent." 

This  letter  wi-itten  and  dispatched,  my  only  thought 
was  to  lie  quietly  by  in  the  Hermitage,  caring  for  my  health, 
endeavoring  to  recover  my  strength,  and  taking  measures 
to  remove  in  the  spring  without  any  disturbance,  and  with- 
out making  the  rupture  public.  But  these  were  not  the 
intentions  of  M.  Grimm  and  Madam  d'Bpmay,  as  will 
presently  appear. 

A  few  days  afterwards,  I  had  at  last  the  pleasure  of 
Diderot's  long  promised  visit.  He  could  not  have  come 
more  opportunely  ;  he  was  my  oldest  friend — almost  the 
only  one  I  had  left :  judge  how  glad  I  felt  to  see  him  as 
things  stood.  My  heart  was  full,  and  I  unburdened  my- 
self to  him.  I  set  him  right  as  to  various  facts  they  had 
either  kept  back  from  him,  disguised  or  feigned.  I  told 
him  all  that  was  allowable  for  me  to  tell  him  touching  what 
had  passed.  Nor  did  I  aifect  to  conceal  from  him  what  he  too 
well  knew,  that  a  love,  as  unhappy  as  insensate  had  been 


230  Rousseau's  confessions 

the  cause  of  my  ruin  ;  but  I  never  let  him  know  that 
Madam  d'Houdetot  had  been  acquainted  therewith,  or  at 
least  that  I  had  declared  it  to  her.  I  spoke  to  him  of  the 
base  manoeuvres  Madam  d'Epiuay  had  employed  for  the 
purpose  of  intercepting  the  very  innocent  letters  her  sister- 
in-law  wrote  me.  I  wished  he  should  hear  the  particulars 
from  the  mouth  of  the  very  persons  she  had  attempted  to 
seduce.  Thdrese  accordingly  told  precisely  how  it  was: 
but  what  was  my  amazement  when  it  came  the  mothers 
turn  to  tell  what  she  knew,  to  hear  her  declare  and  main- 
tain that  she  knew  nothing  at  all  of  the  matter  !  These 
were  her  words,  and  she  would  never  give  in.  It  was  not 
four  days  since  she  had  confirmed  all  the  particulars  Therese 
had  just  stated,  and  now  she  contradicts  me  in  my  face  be- 
fore my  friend  !  This  trait  decided  me,  and  I  keenly  felt 
my  imprudence  in  having  so  long  kept  such  a  woman  under 
my  roof.  I  used  no  invectives  towards  her  ;  I  scarcely 
deigned  uttering  a  few  words  of  contempt.  I  felt  what  I 
owed  the  daughter,  whose  steadfast  uprightness  was  in  such 
perfect  contrast  to  the  base  villainy  of  the  mother.  But 
from  that  instant  my  resolution  was  formed,  and  I  only 
waited  the  moment  to  put  it  into  execution. 

This  came  sooner  than  I  had  expected.  On  the  16th 
of  December,  I  received  from  Madam  d  Epinay  an  answer 
to  my  previous  letter.     Here  it  is  : 

"Geneva,  December  1st,  1751.* 
"  After  having,  for  several  years,  given  you  every  pos- 
sible mark  of  friendship  and  kindness,  all  I  can  now  do  is 
to  pity  you,  for  you  certainly  are  to  be  pitied.  I  only  wish 
your  conscience  may  be  as  calm  as  mine  is.  This  must 
be  necessary  for  anything  like  peace  of  mind  in  your  after- 
life. 

"  Since  you  were  going  to  quit  the  Hermitage,  and  since 
you  'o7i,ffht'  to  do  so,  I  am  astonished  your  friends  hindered 
you.  For  my  })art,  I  never  consult  my  friends  as  to  my 
duty,  and  as  to  yours  1  have  nothing  farther  to  say  to 
you." 

So  unexpected  but  so  unqualified  a  dismissal  left  me  no 
time  to  hesitate.     Go  I  must  instantly,  let  the  weather  or 

*  FileB,  No.  11. 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  IX.      175T.  231 

my  health  be  what  they  might,  though  I  should  have  to 
sleep  in  the  woods,  on  the  snow  with  which  the  earth 
was  then  covered,  and  whatever  Madam  d'Houdetot  might 
do  or  say  ;  for  while  I  was  willing  to  do  everything  consistent 
with  honor  to  please  her,  I  was  not  willing  to  render  my- 
self infamous. 

The  embarrassment  I  was  in  was  the  most  terrible  I 
ever  experienced  in  my  life  ;  but  my  mind  was  made  up  ; 
I  swore  that,  come  what  might,  I  would  not  sleep  in  the 
Hermitage  that  night  week.  I  began  to  prepare  for  send- 
ing away  my  effects,  resolved  to  leave  them  in  the  open 
field  rather  than  not  give  up  the  key  on  the  eighth  day,  for 
I  was  especially  anxious  that  everything  should  be  done 
before  time  for  a  letter  to  go  and  come  from  Geneva.  I 
felt  a  courage  I  never  experienced  before  ;  all  my  strength 
returned.  Honor  and  indignation  infused  into  my  frame  a 
vigor  on  which  Madam  d'Epinay  had  not  calculated. 
Fortune  aided  my  audacity.  M.  Mathas,  Procurmr  fiscal 
to  His  Grace  the  Prince  of  Conde,  hearing  tell  of  my 
embarrassment,  sent  and  offered  me  a  small  house  which 
he  had  in  his  garden  of  Mont-Louis  at  Montmorency. 
Eagerly  and  gratefully  I  accepted.  The  bargain  was  soon 
concluded  ;  I  hastily  sent  and  bought  some  articles  of 
furniture  to  add  to  what  we  had  so  as  to  furnish  a  sleeping- 
place  for  Therese  and  myself.  My  effects  I  had  carted  off 
with  a  deal  of  trouble  and  at  great  expense.  Notwith- 
standing the  ice  and  snow,  my  moving  was  completed  in  two 
days,  and  on  the  15th  of  December,  I  gave  up  the  keys  of 
the  Hermitage,  after  having  paid  the  gardener  his  wages. 
I  was  not  able  to  pay  my  rent. 

As  to  Madam  Le  Vasseur,  I  told  her  we  must  part  : 
her  daughter  tried  to  shake  my  determination  ;  but  I  was 
inflexible.  I  sent  her  off  to  Paris  in  the  messenger's 
wagon,  with  all  the  furniture  she  and  her  daughter  had 
between  them.  I  gave  her  some  money,  and  agreed  to  pay 
her  lodging,  either  with  her  children  or  elsewhere,  to  pro- 
vide for  her  subsistence  as  long  as  I  possibly  could,  and 
never  to  let  her  want  bread  as  long  as  I  had  it  myself. 

Finally,  the  day  after  my  arrival  at  Mont-Louis,  I 
wrote  Madam  d'Epinay  the  following  letter  : 


232  Rousseau's  confessions. 

"  Montmorency,  December  17,  1*757 

"  Nothing  is  so  plain,  nothing  so  imperative,  Madam,  as 
to  leave  your  house  when  you  no  longer  approve  of  my  re- 
maining therein.  Upon  your  refusing  your  consent  to  my 
passing  the  remainder  of  the  winter  at  the  Hermitage,  I 
accordingly  left  it  on  the  15th  December.  It  was  my 
fate  to  enter  it  in  spite  of  myself,  and  it  has  been  my  fate 
to  leave  it  in  the  same  manner.  I  thank  you  for  the  stay 
you  prevailed  upon  me  to  make  there,  and  I  would  thank 
you  more,  had  it  cost  me  less. 

"  You  are  right  in  thinking  me  unhappy  :  nobody  in  the 
world  knows  better  than  you  do  how  much  so  I  must  be. 
If  it  be  a  misfortune  to  be  deceived  in  the  choice  of  one's 
friends,  it  is  another  no  less  bitter  one  to  recover  from  an 
error  so  delicious."  * 

Such  is  a  faithful  account  of  my  residence  at  the  Hermit- 
age, and  the  reasons  that  obliged  me  to  leave  it.  I  could 
not  break  off  the  recital,  as  it  was  necessary  to  go  through 
therewith  with  the  utmost  exactness,  this  period  having  had 
an  influence  on  me  that  will  operate  till  the  last  moment  of 
my  life. 

*  This  letter  as  given  in  the  Memoires  of  Mme.  d'Epinay  ends  with 
the  following  postscript.  "Your  gardener  is  paid  up  to  the  1st  of 
January.'"  This  postscript  is  not  to  be  found  in  any  edition  of  the 
Confessions,  and  is  not  even  in  the  first  MS.  This  omission  can  but 
have  been  an  oversight  on  Rousseau's  part,  as  without  it,  it  is  impossible 
to  understand  Mme.  d'P'pinay's  reply  at  the  commencement  of  the  follow- 
ing book.     Tr. 


BOOK  X. 

1758 

The  extraordinary  strength  wherewith  my  passing  high- 
wrought  fervor  had  inspired  me,  enabling  me  to  quit  the 
Hermitage,  forsook  me  the  moment  I  was  out  of  it. 
Scarcely  had  I  settled  down  in  my  new  home  before  severe 
and  frequent  attacks  of  my  retentions  came  on,  accompanied 
by  the  new  incommodity  of  a  rupture  that  had  tormented 
me  for  a  long  time  without  my  knowing  what  it  was.  I 
was  soon  reduced  to  the  most  terrible  state.  My  old  friend, 
Dr.  Thierry,  came  to  see  me  and  told  me  what  was  the 
matter.  The  sight  of  all  the  apparatus  of  the  infirmities  of 
age  I  had  collected  around  me — sondes,  bougies,  bandages 
and  what  not — made  me  bitterly  realize  that  one  cannot 
with  impunity  have  a  young  heart  in  an  old  body.  The 
fine  weather  returned,  but  brought  not  back  with  it  my 
strength,  and  I  passed  the  whole  of  the  year  1758  in  a 
state  of  languor  that  led  me  to  believe  I  was  approaching 
the  end  of  my  mortal  career.  I  looked  forward  with  a  sort 
of  eager  impatience  to  the  termination  of  life's  tragedy. 
Recovered  from  the  pursuit  of  the  phantom  Friendship, 
cut  loose  from  all  that  had  made  life  dear,  I  saw  nothing  in 
existence  to  make  it  desirable  ;  saw  naught  but  accumulat- 
ed ills  and  woes,  poisoniug  all  enjoyment  ;  and  I  sighed  for 
the  time  that  would  set  me  free,  and  I  escape  my  enemies. 
But  let  us  resume  the  thread  of  events. 

My  retirement  to  Montmorency  seems  to  have  discon- 
certed Madam  d'Epinay  :  most  likely  she  did  not  expect 
it.  My  sad  state,  the  severity  of  the  season,  the  general 
abandonment  into  which  I  was  plunged,  all  went  to  make 
Grimm  and  her  believe  that,  by  pushing  me  to  the  last  ex- 
tremity, they  would  bring  me  to  implore  mercy  and  de- 
grade myself  to  the  lowest  depths,  in  order  to  be  allowed 
to  remain  in  an  asylum  honor  ordered  me  to  quit.  I  left 
it  so  suddenly  that  they  had  not  time  to  prevent  the  step, 


234  Rousseau's  confessions. 

and  they  were  reduced  to  the  alternative  of  playing  '  quits 
or  double' — either  to  finish  my  destruction  or  to  attempt  to 
get  me  to  return.  Grimm  chose  the  former ;  though 
Madam  d'Epinay  would,  I  think,  have  preferred  the  latter. 
This  I  judge  from  her  reply  to  my  last  letter,  wherein  she 
came  down  a  good  deal  from  the  tone  of  the  preceeding 
ones,  and  in  which  she  seemed  to  open  the  door  to  an 
arrangement.  The  long  delay  of  this  reply,  (she  made  me 
wait  a  whole  month  for  it,)  sufficiently  indicates  the  embar- 
rassment she  felt  in  giving  it  a  satisfactory  turn,  and  the 
preparatory  deliberation  she  gave  it.  She  could  not  make 
any  farther  advances  without  compromising  herself :  but, 
after  her  previous  letters,  and  after  my  hasty  departure 
from  her  house,  it  is  impossible  not  to  be  struck  with  the 
care  she  takes  in  this  letter,  not  to  let  a  single  offensive 
expression  escape  her.  I  here  give  the  whole  of  it,  so 
that  the  reader  may  have  an  opportunity  of  forming  his 
own  opinion  : 

"Geneva,  January  Hth,  1758.* 

Sir, — I  did  not  receive  your  letter  of  the  11th  Decem- 
ber till  yesterday.  It  was  sent  me  in  a  box  filled  with 
various  matters,  and  which  has  been  all  this  time  upon  the 
road.  I  shall  simply  answer  the  postscript  ;  as  to  the 
letter,  I  do  not  well  understand  it,  and  were  we  in  the 
situation  to  come  to  an  explanation,  I  should  be  very  will- 
ing to  let  everything  that  has  passed  go  to  the  account  of 
a  misunderstanding.  And  now  for  the  postscript.  You 
may  remember,  sir,  that  we  agreed  the  gardener's  wages 
should  pass  through  your  hands,  the  better  to  make  him 
feci  his  dependence  on  you,  and  to  avoid  the  ridiculous  and 
indecent  scenes  that  happened  hi  the  time  of  his  predeces- 
sor. As  a  proof  of  this,  his  first  quarters'  wages  were 
given  you,  and  we  agreed,  a  few  days  before  my  departure, 
that  I  should  re-iml)urse  you  what  you  had  advanced.  I 
know  you  raised  some  objection  at  first :  but  'twas  I  had 
asked  you  to  make  these  advances  ;  it  was  but  right  I 
should  repay  you,  and  this  we  agreed  on.  Cahouet  informs 
me  that  you  refused  to  receive  the  money.  There  must 
certainly  be  some  mistake  in  the  matter,  I  have  given  or- 

*  File  B,  No.  23. 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  X.      1758.  235 

ders  that  it  be  refunded  you,  and  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  persist  in  paying  my  gardener,  notwithstanding  our 
agreement,  and  that,  too,  beyond  the  term  of  your  stay  at 
the  Hermitage.  I  trust,  then,  sir,  that  recaUing  the  var- 
ious circumstances  I  have  had  the  honor  to  state,  you  will 
not  refuse  the  re-imbursemeut  of  the  advances  you  had  the 
goodness  to  make  for  me." 

Unable,  after  what  had  passed,  to  repose  any  confi- 
dence in  Madam  d'Epinay,  I  was  unwilling  to  renew  my 
connection  with  her  ;  so  I  did  not  answer  this  letter,  and 
there  our  correspondence  ended.  Perceiving  my  mind  was 
made  up,  she  made  up  hers  ;  and,  entering  forthwith  into 
all  the  views  of  Grimm  and  the  Holbach  coterie,  she 
united  her  efforts  with  theirs  to  complete  my  destruction. 
Whilst  they  were  busy  iu  Paris,  she  was  busy  in  Geneva. 
Grimm,  who  afterwards  went  there  to  join  her,  finished 
what  she  had  begun.  Tronchin,  whom  they  found  no  diffi- 
culty in  gaining  over,  powerfully  seconded  their  efforts,  and 
became  the  most  furious  of  my  persecutors,  without  his 
having,  any  more  than  Grimm  had,  the  slightest  cause  of 
complaint  against  me.  The  three  together  sowed  in  silence 
the  germs  that,  four  years  afterwards,  burst  into  life. 

They  met  with  more  difficulty  in  Paris,  where  I  was 
better  known,  and  the  inhabitants  of  which,  with  hearts 
less  open  to  hatred,  are  not  so  ready  to  receive  impressions 
of  that  sort.  To  direct  their  blows  the  more  surely  and 
skillfully,  they  began  by  giving  out  that  'twas  /  had  left 
them.'*  And  so,  feigning  to  be  still  my  friends,  they  dexter- 
ously spread  their  malignant  accusations,  as  so  many  com- 
plaints at  their  friend's  injustice.  The  result  was  that, 
thrown  off  their  guard,  people  gave  the  accusations  a 
readier  hearing,  and  were  more  inclined  to  blame  me.  The 
secret  charges  of  perfidy  aud  ingratitude  were  made  with 
greater  precaution,  and  so  produced  all  the  greater  effect. 
I  knew  they  imputed  the  most  atrocious  crimes  to  me, 
without  ever  being  able  to  learn  in  what  they  made  them 
consist.  All  I  could  gather  from  pul)lic  rumor  was,  that  they 
reduced  themselves  to  the  four  following  capital  oS'ences  : 
First,  my  retiring  to  the  country  ;  secondly,  my  love  for 

*  See  Deleyre's  letter,  File  B,  No.  30. 


236  Rousseau's  confessions. 

Madam  d'Houdetot ;  thirdly,  my  refusal  to  accompany 
Madam  d'Epinay  ;  fourthly,  my  leaving  the  Hermitage. 
If  there  were  auy  additional  grievances,  they  managed 
things  so  well  that  it  has  been  completely  impossible  for  me 
ever  to  learn  the  subject  thereof 

This,  then,  is  the  period  at  which  I  think  I  may  fix  the 
establishment  of  a  system,  since  adopted  by  those  who  have 
me  under  their  control,  established  with  a  rapidity  of  success 
that  might  seem  miraculous  to  any  one  ignorant  of  the  facil- 
ity and  favor  met  with  by  whatever  flatters  the  malignity  of  men. 
I  shall  endeavor  briefly  to  develop  so  much  as  I  have  been 
able  to  penetrate  amid  the  deep,  dark  labyrinths  of  this  system. 

With  a  name  already  celebrated,  and  known  throughout 
all  Em'ope,  I  had  still  preserved  the  simplicity  of  my  early 
tastes.  My  mortal  aversion  to  everything  like  party-chques 
or  cabals  had  kept  me  free  and  independent,  unbound  by 
aught  save  the  attachments  of  my  heart.  A  stranger  and 
alone,  without  family  or  fortune,  and  looking  only  to  my  prm- 
ciples  and  duties,  I  boldly  pursued  the  path  of  uprightness, 
flattering  or  favoring  no  one  at  the  expense  of  truth  and 
justice.  Having  dwelt,  moreover,  for  two  years  past,  in  soli- 
tude, uncognizant  of  the  news,  careless  of  the  affairs  of  the 
world,  neither  knowing  nor  caring  to  know  any  thing  that 
was  going  on,  my  absorption  and  indifference  separated  me  as 
completely  from  the  capital,  though  living  within  four  leagues 
of  Pai'is,  as  though  I  had  been  beyond  the  seas  on  the  isle 
Tinian. 

Grimm,  Diderot,  d'Holbach,  on  the  contrary,  stood  in 
the  centre  of  the  vortex,  themselves  men  of  the  world,  com- 
manding the  springs  and  sources  of  social  influence.  Influ- 
ential, witty,  literary,  with  the  clergy  and  women  under  their 
influence,  they  could  act  in  concert  and  obtain  a  hearing 
everywhere.  No  one,  I  think,  can  help  perceiving  the  advan- 
tage this  position  must  have  given  three  men,  uniting  their 
efforts,  over  a  fourth  in  the  situation  in  which  I  was  placed. 
True,  Diderot  and  d'Holbach  were  not  (at  least  I  cannot 
believe  they  were)  the  persons  to  machinate  very  dark  plots  : 
the  first  was  not  base  enough,*  nor  the  last  smart  enough  : 

*  I  confess  that,  since  this  book  was  written,  all  I  can  discern 
athwart  the  mysteries  that  surround  me,  makes  me  fear  that  I  did  not 
know  Diderot. 


PERIOD  II,      BOOK  X.      1T58.  237 

but  the  faction  was  for  this  reason  all  the  more  closely  unit- 
ed. Grimm  alone  formed  his  plan  in  his  head,  and  only  show- 
ed the  others  as  much  of  it  as  they  needed  to  see  in  helping 
him  execute  it.  The  ascendency  he  had  gained  over  them  ren- 
dered this  easy,  and  the  effect  of  the  whole  was  commensu- 
rate with  the  superiority  of  his  talent. 

It  was  with  this  superior  talent  that,  feeling  the  advan- 
tage he  might  take  of  our  respective  positions,  he  formed  the 
project  of  overthrowing  my  reputatiou  "  from  turret  to  foun- 
dation stone;"  and,  without  at  all  compromising  hunself, 
building  me  a  quite  other,  by  commencing  to  raise  around  me 
an  edifice  of  darkness  it  has  been  utterly  impossible  for  me  to 
break  through,  and  so  bring  to  light  his  manoeuvres  and 
unmask  him. 

His  undertaking  was  a  difficult  one,  seeing  that  he  had  to 
palliate  his  iniquity  in  the  eyes  of  his  accomplices.  He  had 
honest,  upright  people  to  deceive,  and  to  that  end  he  was 
under  the  necessity  of  alienating  everybody  from  me  and  de- 
priving me  of  every  friend,  great  or  small.  What  say  I  ? 
Nay,  he  had  so  to  contrive  that  not  a  solitary  word  of  the 
truth  should  reach  me.  Had  a  single  honest  man  come  and 
said  to  me  :  "  You  affect  the  virtuous,  and  yet  thus  and  thus 
they  treat  you,  and  on  such  and  such  circumstances  they  base 
their  judgment  :  what  have  you  to  say  ?"  the  truth  had 
triumphed,  and  Grimm  been  undone.  This  he  knew  ;  but 
be  had  searched  his  own  heart,  and  judged  men  after  what 
they  were  worth.  I  am  very  sorry,  for  the  honor  of  human 
nature,  that  he  calculated  so  correctly. 

Whilst  pursuing  these  dark  and  crooked  paths,  his  steps, 
to  be  sure,  were  necessarily  slow.  For  twelve  years  has  he 
been  working  away  at  his  plot,  and  the  hardest  part  of  it 
remains  yet  to  be  done,  namely,  to  deceive  the  public  at 
large.  There  are  eyes  that  have  followed  him  closer  than  he 
thmks.  This  he  fears,  and  dares  not  lay  his  conspiracy 
open.*  However,  he  has  found  the  easy  means  of  enlisting 
Power  on  his  side,  and  this  Power  has  the  disposal  of  me. 
Thus  supported,  he  advances  more  boldly.     The  minions  of 

*  Since  this  was  written,  he  has  taken  this  step  with  the  fullest  and 
most  inconceivable  success.  I  think  it  is  Tronchin  that  has  given  him 
the  courage  to  do  this,  and  furnished  him  with  the  means  necessary  to 
curry  it  out. 


238  Rousseau's  confessions. 

Power,  piquing  themselves  but  little  on  uprightness  as  a  gen- 
eral thing,  and  still  less  on  frankness,  he  need  no  longer 
stand  in  much  fear  of  the  indiscretion  of  any  honest  man  ;  for 
his  safety  is  in  my  being  enveloped  in  impenetrable  obscurity 
and  in  concealing  his  conspiracy  from  me,  well  aware  that, 
however  craftily  he  has  constructed  his  plot,  it  could  not  sus- 
tain a  single  glance  of  mine.  His  great  art  is  in  seeming  to 
favor  whilst  he  defames  me,  and  so  to  manage  it  that  his  very 
perfidy  may  look  Uke  generosity. 

I  felt  the  first  effects  of  this  system  in  the  secret  accusa- 
tions of  the  Holbach  coterie,  without  its  ever  being  in  my 
power  to  know,  or  even  guess  what  these  same  accusations 
really  were.  Deleyre  informed  me  in  his  letters  that  heinous 
crknes  were  unputed  to  me  ;  Diderot  told  me  the  same  thing, 
only  more  mysteriously  ;  and  when  I  came  to  an  explanation 
with  both,  the  whole  proved  to  be  but  variations  of  some  of 
the  afore-mentioned  heads.  I  perceived  a  gradually  increas- 
ing coolness  in  Madam  d'Houdetot's  letters.  This  I  could 
not  attribute  to  Saint-Lambert,  seemg  he  continued  to  ^Tite 
to  me  vnth  the  same  amity,  and  even  came  to  see  me  after 
his  return.  Xor  could  I  impute  the  fault  to  myself,  as  we 
had  separated  on  the  best  of  terms,  and  nothing  had  passed 
since  on  my  part  except  my  removal  from  the  Hermitage,  the 
necessity  of  which  she  had  felt  herself.  Not  knowing,  then, 
whence  this  coolness  came — for  she  denied  there  was  any, 
although  my  heart  was  not  to  be  cheated  so — I  was  uneasy 
in  every  way.  I  knew  she  courted  her  sister-in-law  and 
Grimm  a  great  deal,  on  account  of  their  connection  with 
Saint-Lambert  ;  and  I  feared  their  machinations.  This  agi- 
tation opened  my  wounds  afresh  and  rendered  my  correspon- 
dence so  violent  as  quite  to  disgust  her  with  it.  I  caught 
glimpses  of  a  thousand  most  harassing  matters,  without  see- 
mg anything  distinctly.  I  was  in  the  most  insupportable  of 
all  states  for  a  man  whose  imagination  easily  takes  fire.  Had 
I  been  absolutely  isolated,  and  known  nothing  whatever  of 
the  matter,  I  should  have  become  calmer  ;  but  my  heart 
still  clung  to  attachments  whereby  my  enemies  had  hold  of  me 
in  a  thousand  ways  ;  and  the  feel)le  rays  that  penetrated  my 
retreat  but  revealed  the  blackness  of  the  mysteries  they  con- 
cealed from  me. 

I  should,  I  doubt  not,  have  sunk  under  the  torment, 


PERIOD  11.    BOOK  X.      1758.  239 

too  overwhelming,  too  insupportable  for  my  frank  and  open 
disposition,  which,  from  the  impossibility  I  find  in  conceal- 
ing my  feelings,  makes  me  fear  everything  from  those  who 
do,  had  not,  fortunately,  objects  sufficiently  interesting  to 
my  heart  presented  themselves,  and  so  drawn  me  off  from 
the  thoughts  in  which  I  was,  spite  of  myself,  so  absorbed. 
Diderot,  on  his  last  visit  he  paid  me  at  the  Hermitage,  had 
spoken  to  me  of  d'Alembert's  article  Geneva  in  the  '  En- 
cyclopaedia.' He  had  informed  me  that  this  article,  con- 
certed along  with  certain  Genevese  of  high  rank,  aimed  at 
the  establishment  of  a  theatre  at  Geneva  ;  that  measures 
had  been  taken  accordingly,  and  that  the  plan  would  shortly 
be  carried  into  execution.  As  Diderot  seemed  to  think 
this  all  very  well,  and  had  no  doubt  of  its  success,  I  did 
not  say  anything  to  him,  as  I  had  too  many  other  points 
of  dispute  with  him  to  get  wrangling  about  this  ;  but 
maddened  at  these  preparatives  to  seduce  my  country,  I 
awaited  with  impatience  the  arrival  of  the  volume  of  the 
'Encyclopaedia'  containing  the  article,  so  as  to  see  if  there 
was  no  means  of  replying  thereto,  and  so  parrying  in  a 
measure  the  unfortunate  blow.  I  received  the  volume 
shortly  after  my  establishment  at  Mont-Louis,  and  found 
that  the  article  was  put  together  with  much  art  and  ad- 
dress, and  worthy  the  pen  it  came  from.  This  did  not, 
however,  abate  my  desire  to  reply  thereto  ;  and  notwith- 
standing the  dejection  I  was  then  laboring  under,  spite  of 
my  griefs  and  pains,  the  rigor  of  the  season  and  the  incom- 
modity  of  my  new  dwelling  (not  having  had  time  to  arrange 
things),  I  set  to  work  with  a  zeal  that  surmounted  every 
obstacle. 

I  went  every  day,  during  the  month  of  February,  severe 
though  the  winter  was,  and  passed  two  hours  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  the  same  in  the  afternoon,  in  an  open  turret  at  the 
bottom  of  the  garden  in  which  my  dwelling  stood.  This 
turret  terminated  a  terraced  alley,  and  overlooked  the  val- 
ley and  pond  of  Montmorency,  presenting  as  closing-point 
of  the  prospect  the  plain  but  respectable  chateau  de  Saint- 
Gratien,  the  retreat  of  the  virtuous  Catiuat.  It  was  in 
this  place,  then  exposed  to  freezing  cold  that,  unsheltered 
from  the  wind  and  snow,  and  with  no  fire  but  the  fire  in 
my  heart,  I  in  three  weeks  put  together  my  Letter  on  the 


240  Rousseau's  confessions. 

Stage,  to  d'Alembert.  This  was  the  first  of  my  writings 
(for  the  Nouvdlc  Heloise  was  not  half  done  yet)  in  the 
composition  of  which  I  felt  a  positive  pleasure.  Hitherto, 
virtuous  indignation  had  stood  me  instead  of  Apollo  ;  this 
time,  tenderness  and  grief  of  soul  became  my  inspiring 
muse.  While  but  a  witness  to  injustice,  it  merely  irritated 
me,  but  when  I  became  its  object,  it  saddened  me,  and 
this  sadness,  unmingled  with  aught  of  bitterness,  was  but 
the  low,  soft  wailing  of  a  heart  all  too  loving,  too  tender, 
which,  deceived  in  those  it  thou2:ht  like  itself,  was  forced 
to  collapse  and  retire  inward.  Full  of  what  had  just  be- 
fallen me,  still  stirred  to  the  depths  of  my  soul  by  so  many 
violent  emotions,  I  mingled  the  feeling  of  my  woes  with 
the  ideas  meditation  on  my  subject  had  given  rise  to  :  my 
work  partook  of  this  double  coloring.  Without  perceiving 
it  myself,  I  painted  my  own  situation  :  I  described  Grimm, 
Madam  d'Epinay,  Madam  d'Houdetot,  Saint-Lambert, 
myself.  What  delicious  tears  did  I  shed  over  my  task ! 
Alas  !  too  evident  is  it  that  love,  that  fatal  love  I  so  strove 
to  cure  me  of,  still  lingered  in  my  heart.  Added  to  all 
this  was  a  certain  melancholy  over  my  own  lot,  conceiving, 
as  I  did,  that  I  was  dying,  and  thinking  I  was  bidding  the 
public  a  last  farewell.  Far  from  fearing  death,  I  looked 
foreward  to  its  approach  with  joy  ;  but  I  felt  sad  at  leav- 
ing my  fellow-men  without  their  knowing  my  real  worth, 
without  their  feeliag  how  deserving  I  was  of  their  love, 
had  they  but  known  me  better.  This  is  the  secret  ca,use 
of  the  singular  tone  that  reigns  throughout  tEis  work,  so 
prodigiously  unlike  my  previous  one.* 

I  was  busy  correcting  and  copying  this  letter  so  as  to 
prepare  it  for  press,  when,  after  a  long  silence,  I  received  a 
note  from  Madam  d'Houdetot  that  plunged  me  into  new 
affliction,  the  keenest  I  had  been  yet  called  to  go  through. 
She  mformed  me  in  this  letter  f  that  my  passion  for  her  was 
known  throughout  all  Paris  ;  that  I  had  spoken  of  it  to 
persons  who  had  made  it  public  ;  that  these  rumors,  reaching 
her  lover's  ears  had  come  near  costmg  her  her  life  ;  that  he 
had  at  last  done  her  justice  and  peace  was  restored  ;  but 
that  she  owed  it  as  well  to  him  as  to  her  own  reputation  to 

*  The  "  Discours  sur  I'luegalite."     Tr. 
t  File  B,  No.  34. 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  X.       1758.  241 

break  off  all  intercourse  with  me,  assuring  me,  however,  that 
they  would  both  of  them  stiU  continue  to  interest  themselves 
in  me,  that  they  would  defend  me  in  pubhc,  and  that  she 
herself  would  send  from  time  to  time  to  inquii'e  after  my 
health. 

"  And  thou  too,  Diderot  !"  cried  I.  "  Base  friend  ! " 
...  I  could  not  yet,  however,  bring  myself  to  condemn  him. 
My  weakness  was  known  to  other  persons,  who  might  have 
spoken  of  it.  I  wished  to  doubt  . . .  but  ere  long  this  was 
out  of  my  power.  Saint-Lambert  shortly  afterwards  per- 
formed an  act  worthy  his  generosity.  Knowing  my  nature, 
he  judged  what  a  state  I  must  be  in,  betrayed  by  one  por- 
tion of  my  friends  and  forsaken  by  the  other.  He  came  to 
see  me.  This  first  tmie,  he  had  not  much  time  to  spare.  He 
came  again.  Unfortunately,  not  expecting  him,  I  was  not 
at  home.  Therese,  who  was  in,  had  a  conversation  of  up- 
wards of  two  hom's  with  him,  in  which  they  informed  each 
other  of  facts  of  great  importance  to  both  of  us.  ]\ly  sur- 
prise on  learning  from  him  that  nobody  doubted  but  that 
I  had  held  the  same  relations  to  Madam  d'Epinay  as  Grunm 
now  did,  was  only  equaUed  by  Saint-Lambert's  astonishment 
on  being  informed  that  the  report  was  totally  false.  Saint- 
Lambert,  to  the  great  dissatisfaction  of  the  lady,  was  in  the 
same  predicament  as  myself,  and  the  light  thrown  on  the 
matter  by  this  conversation  completely  extinguished  all  the 
regret  I  felt  for  having  broken  with  her  for  ever.  Relative 
to  Madam  d'Houdetot,  he  mentioned  several  circumstances 
to  Therese  that  were  known  neither  to  her  nor  to  Madam 
d'Houdetot,  matters  that  I  alone  knew,  and  which  I  had 
told  nobody  but  Diderot  and  that  under  the  seal  of  friend- 
ship ;  and  now  he  goes  away  and  confides  these  very  matters 
to  Saint-Lambert  hmiself.  This  last  step  decided  me,  and, 
resolved  on  breaking  with  Diderot  for  ever,  all  I  deliberated 
on  was  how  I  should  do  it ;  for  I  had  perceived  that  secret 
ruptures  turned  to  my  prejudice,  leaving,  as  they  did,  my 
most  bitter  enemies  the  mask  of  friendship. 

The  established  rules  of  etiquette  on  this  point  would 
seem  to  have  been  dictated  by  the  very  spirit  of  treachery 
and  falsehood.  To  appear  still  the  friend  of  a  man,  when 
you  are  no  longer  so,  is  to  reserve  yourself  the  means  of  in- 
juring him  by  iraposmg  on  unsuspecting  people.  I  recollected 
II.  11 


242  Rousseau's  confessions. 

that  when  the  iUustrious  Montesquieu  broke  with  Father 
Tournemine,  he  made  haste  to  declare  it  openly,  saying  to 
everybody  :  "  Listen  neither  to  Father  Tournemine  nor  my- 
self when  speaking  of  each  other  ;  for  we  are  no  longer 
friends."  This  behavior  was  greatly  applauded,  and  every- 
body lauded  his  frankness  and  generosity.  I  resolved  to 
pursue  the  same  course  with  Diderot  ;  but  how  was  I,  from 
my  retreat,  to  publish  our  rupture  authentically,  and  at  the 
same  time  without  scandal  ?  I  bethought  me  of  inserting 
in  my  work,  in  the  form  of  a  note,  a  passage  from  the  book 
of  Ecclesiasticus,  that  declared  the  rupture  and  even  the  oc- 
casion thereof  with  plainness  enough  to  any  one  that  was  in 
the  secret,  but  signified  nothing  to  the  rest  of  the  world, 
endeavoring,  at  the  same  time,  never  to  speak  in  my  work 
of  the  friend  I  renounced  but  with  the  honor  we  should  al- 
ways render  friendship,  even  though  dead.  All  this,  how- 
ever, may  be  seen  in  the  work  itself. 

There  is  nothing  but  hap  or  mishap  in  this  world  ;  and 
it  seems  as  though  every  act  of  courage  were  a  crime  in 
adversity.  The  same  trait  people  had  admired  in  Montes- 
quieu drew  down  only  blame  and  reproach  on  my  head.  As 
soon  as  my  work  was  printed,  and  I  could  get  copies  of  it, 
I  sent  one  to  Saint-Lambert,  who,  the  evening  before,  had 
written  me  a  note  in  his  own  and  Madam  d'Houdetot's 
name  that  was  full  of  the  tenderest  amity.*  Here  is  the 
letter  he  wrote  me  on  returning  the  copy  i  had  sent  him. 

"Eaubonne,  Oct.  10th,  lt58.t 
"  Indeed,  sir,  I  cannot  accept  the  present  you  have 
just  sent  me.  On  coming  to  the  part  of  your  preface  where, 
in  connection  with  Diderot,  you  cite  a  passage  from 
Ecclesiastes  [He  is  mistaken,  it  is  from  Ecdedasticus,']  the 
book  dropt  from  my  hand. 

"  After  the  conversations  we  had  this  summer,  you  ap- 
peared to  me  to  be  persuaded  that  Diderot  was  innocent  of 
the  pretended  indiscretions  you  had  imputed  to  him.  He 
may,  for  aught  I  know,  have  wronged  you  ;  but  I  do  know 
that,  be  these  wrongs  what  they  may,  they  give  you  no 
right  to  insult  him  publicly.     You  are  aware  of  the  persecu- 

*  File  B,  No.  37. 
t  File  B,  No.  38. 


PERIOD  n.     BOOK  X,     1758,  243 

tions  he  is  laboring  under,  and  you  go  and  add  the  voice  of 
an  old  friend  to  the  cry  of  envy.  I  cannot  keep  back,  sir, 
how  much  this  atrocity  revolts  me.  I  hold  no  comraunica- 
tion  with  Diderot,  but  I  honor  him,  and  I  deeply  feel  the 
pain  you  must  give  a  man,  whom,  at  least  in  my  hearing, 
you  never  reproached  with  anything  but  a  trifling  weakness. 
Sir,  you  and  I  differ  too  much  in  our  principles  ever  to 
agree.  Forget  my  existence  :  that  ought  not  to  be  diffi- 
cult. I  have  never  done  any  one  either  good  or  evil  enough 
to  be  long  remembered.  For  my  part,  sir,  I  promise  you 
to  forget  your  person,  and  remember  only  your  talents," 

I  felt  as  wounded  as  indignant  at  this  letter,  and  in 
the  depth  of  my  misery,  recovering  my  pride  again,  I 
answered  him  in  the  following  note. 

"Montmorency,  Oct.  11th,  1758 
"  Sir — While  reading  your  letter,  I  did  you  the  honor  to 
be  surprised  at  it,  and  w^as  fool  enough  to  be  moved  by  it, 
but  I  find  it  unworthy  of  an  answer. 

"  I  shall  not  continue  Madam  d'Houdetot's  copying.  If 
she  does  not  choose  to  keep  what  she  has,  she  can  return  it 
to  me,  and  I  will  refund  her  her  money.  If  she  keeps  it, 
she  will  still  have  to  send  for  the  remainder  of  her  paper 
and  her  money,  I  beg  she  will  return  me  at  the  same  time 
the  prospectus  she  has  in  her  possession.     Adieu,  sir." 

The  display  of  courage  under  misfortune  galls  the 
wicked,  but  pleases  generous  hearts.  My  note  would 
appear  to  have  led  Saint-Lambert  to  retire  inward,  and 
made  him  regret  what  he  had  done  ;  but,  too  proud  in  his 
turn  to  make  open  advances,  he  seized,  nay,  perhaps  pre- 
pared even,  the  means  of  neutralizing  what  he  had  done. 
A  fortnight  afterwards,  I  received  the  following  letter  from 
M,  d'Epinay. 

"  Thursday,  26th.* 

"  I  received  the  book  you  were  kind  enough  to  send 
me,  sir,  and  read  it  with  the  greatest  pleasure,  a 
sentiment  I  have  always  experienced  in  perusing  the  pro- 
ductions of  your  pen.  Receive  all  my  thanks  for  the  pre- 
sent. I  would  have  come  and  presented  them  personally, 
if  my  affairs  would  have  permitted  me  to  stay  any  time  in 
»  File  B,  No,  10. 


244  Rousseau's  confessions. 

your  neighborhood  ;  but  I  have  been  very  little  at  La 
Chevrette  this  year.  M.  and  Madam  Dupiu  are  coming  to 
dine  with  us  on  Sunday  next.  I  expect  M.  de  Saint-Lam- 
bert, M.  de  Francueil,  and  Madam  d'Houdetot  to  be  of  the 
party  :  you  would  aiford  me  genuine  pleasure,  sir,  would 
you  join  the  company.  All  who  are  to  be  present  are 
desirous  of  seeing  you,  and  will,  as  well  as  myself,  be 
delighted  to  pass  part  of  the  day  with  you.  I  have  the 
honor  to  be  with  the  most  perfect  consideration,  etc." 

This  letter  gave  me  a  fit  of  horrible  heart-beating. 
After  having  for  a  year  past  been  the  talk  of  all  Paris,  to 
go  and  expose  myself  to  public  gaze  in  company  with 
Madam  d'Houdetot  !  The  idea  made  me  tremble,  and  I 
knew  not  where  I  was  to  find  courage  enough  to  go  through 
the  ordeal.  However,  since  both  she  and  Saint-Lambert 
desired  it,  since  d'Epinay  spoke  in  the  name  of  all  the 
guests,  and  did  not  mention  one  I  would  not  be  very  happy 
to  see,  I  did  not  think  I  would,  after  all,  compromise  my- 
self by  accepting  a  dinner  to  which  I  was,  in  a  manner,  in- 
vited by  the  whole  company.  Accordingly,  I  promised  to 
go.  Sunday  came  and  the  weather  turned  out  bad  ;  M. 
d'Epinay  sent  me  his  carriage,  and  I  went. 

My  arrival  produced  a  sensation.  I  never  met  with  a 
kinder  reception.  It  seemed  as  though  the  whole  company 
felt  how  much  I  stood  in  need  of  encouragement.  Tiiere 
are  none  but  French  hearts  susceptible  of  these  fine  strokes 
of  delicacy.  However,  I  found  more  people  than  I  had 
expected  ;  among  others.  Count  d'Houdetot,  whom  I  did 
not  know  at  all,  and  his  sister,  Madam  de  Blainville,  whom 
I  would  very  willingly  have  done  without.  She  had  come 
several  times,  the  year  before,  to  Eaubonne  ;  and  her  sister- 
in-law  had  often  left  her  to  grow  weary  dancing  attendance 
while  we  were  away  on  our  solitary  promenades.  She  had 
harbored  a  feeling  of  resentment  against  me,  and  this  she 
gratified  to  her  heart's  content  during  dinner ;  for  it  must 
be  realized  that  the  presence  of  Count  d'Houdetot  and 
Saint-Lambert  must  hardly  have  set  the  laugh  on  my  side, 
and  it  will  be  readily  surmised  that  a  man  who  felt  embar- 
rassed in  the  most  facile  intercourse,  was  not  extra  brilliant 
iu  the  present  one.     1  never  suffered  so  much,  never  was 


PERIOD  ir.    BOOK  X.     1758.  245 

more  awkward,  nor  received  more  unexpected  mortifica- 
tions. Oa  rising  from  table,  I  liastened  to  get  out  of  the 
shrew's  way  ;  and  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Saint- 
Lambert  and  Madam  d'Houdetot  approach  me.  We 
talked  together  a  part  of  the  afternoon,  and  though  our 
conversation  ran  on  unimportant  matters,  to  be  sure,  still 
our  intercourse  was  as  familiar  as  before  our  estrangement. 
These  friendly  advances  were  not  lost  on  my  heart,  and 
could  Saint-Lambert  have  read  what  was  passing  within 
me,  it  would,  I  doubt  not,  have  gratified  him.  I  can  truly 
aflSrm  that,  though  on  arriving,  the  sight  of  Madam 
d'Houdetot  brought  on  such  violent  palpitations  as  almost 
to  make  me  faint,  on  returning  I  scarcely  thought  of  her; 
my  mind  was  wholly  occupied  with  Saint-Lambert. 

Notwithstanding  Madam  de  Blainville's  malignant  sar- 
casms, this  dinner  was  of  great  advantage  to  me,  and  I 
congratulated  myself  on  not  have  refused.  It  discovered 
to  me  that  not  only  had  the  intrigues  of  Grimm  and  the  Hol- 
bachians  not  alienated  my  old  acquaintances  from  me,* 
but — what  pleased  me  still  better — that  the  feelings  of 
Madam  d'Houdetot  and  Saint-Lambert  were  less  changed 
than  I  had  thought,  and  I  at  length  discerned  that  there  was 
more  jealousy  than  disesteem  in  his  keeping  her  at  a  dis- 
tance from  me.  This  calmed  and  consoled  me.  Assured 
of  not  being  an  object  of  contempt  iu  the  eyes  of  persons 
I  esteemed,  I  labored  more  courageously  and  with  greater 
success  at  schooling  my  heart.  If  I  did  not  succeed  in 
wholly  uprooting  the  guilty  and  unhappy  passion  that  had 
taken  possession  of  it,  I  so  ruled  and  regulated  the  remains 
thereof,  that  I  was  never  afterwards  led  astray  thereby. 
Madam  d'Houdetot's  copying,  which  she  prevailed  upon 
me  to  resume  ;  my  works,  which  I  continued  to  send  her  as 
they  came  out,  still  brought  me  a  note  or  message  from  her 
now  and  then,  which,  though  amounting  to  nothing,  were 
yet  kindly  and  obliging.  Nay,  she  did  more,  as  will  here- 
after appear  ;  and  the  reciprocal  conduct  of  the  three  of  us, 
after  our  intercourse  had  ceased,  might  serve  as  an  example 
of  how  high-minded  people  separate,  when  it  is  no  longer 
agreeable  to  them  to  associate  with  each  other. 

*  So  thought  I,  in  the  simplicity  of  my  heart,  while  writing  my 
Confessions. 


246  ROUSSEAU^S  CONFESSIONS. 

Another  advantage  this  dinner  did  me  was  that  it  was 
spoken  of  in  Paris,  and  served  as  an  unanswerable  refuta- 
tion to  the  rumor  circulated  by  my  enemies,  that  I  had 
quarreled  with  all  present,  and  especially  with  M.  d'Epinay. 
On  leaving  the  Hermitage  I  had  written  him  a  very  polite 
letter  of  thanks,  which  he  answered  no  less  politely  ;  and 
our  mutual  attentions  never  ceased.  I  was  also  on  friendly 
terms  with  his  brother,  M.  de  Lalive,  who  even  came  to 
see  me  at  Montmorency,  and  sent  me  his  engravings.  With 
the  exception  of  the  two  sisters-in-law  of  Madam  d'Hou- 
detot,  I  was  never  otherwise  than  on  good  terms  with 
the  whole  family. 

My  letter  to  d'AIembert  met  with  an  immense  success. 
All  my  works  had  done  so  ;  but  the  reception  of  the  present 
cue  was  more  favorable  to  me.  It  taught  the  public  to 
mistrust  the  insinuations  of  the  Holbach  coterie.  When  I 
went  to  the  Hermitage,  they  had  predicted  with  their  or- 
dinary sufficiency  that  I  would  not  stay  three  months.  On 
seeing  me  hold  out  twenty,  and,  when  forced  to  leave  the 
Hermitage,  still  fix  my  residence  in  the  country,  they  would 
have  it  that  I  did  it  from  pure  obstinacy,  averring  that  I 
was  tired  to  death  of  ray  retirement,  but  that,  eaten  up 
with  vanity,  I  preferred  falling  a  victim  to  my  stubbornness 
rather  than  throw  aside  my  pride  and  return  to  Paris. 
The  letter  to  d'AIembert  breathed  a  piece  of  mind  that 
was  evident  to  everybody  as  not  feigned.  Had  I  been 
bursting  with  bile,  as  they  pretended,  my  humor  would 
have  affected  my  style.  It  was  so  with  the  works  I  wrote 
while  in  Paris,  but  tlie  first  one  I  composed  in  the  country, 
everything  of  the  kind  had  vanished.  To  persons  of  in- 
sight, this  was  profoundly  significant.  They  saw  I  had 
got  into  my  own  element. 

And  yet,  this  same  work,  full  of  mildness  though  it 
was,  made  me,  through  my  wonted  blundering  and  ill  luck, 
another  enemy  among  men  of  letters.  I  had  got  acquainted 
with  Marmoutol  at  M.  de  La  Popliniere's,  and  this  ac- 
quaintance we  had  kept  up  at  the  Baron's.  Marrnontel  was 
then  editing  the  Mcrcure  de  France.  As  I  had  the  pride 
not  to  send  my  works  to  the  periodical  publications,  and 
yet  wishing  to  send  him  the  present  one,  and  that  without 
bis  deeming  that  I  did  so  on  account  of  liLs  position,  or 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  X.       1759.  241 

because  I  was  anxious  he  should  notice  it,  I  wrote  on  his 
copy  that  it  was  not  for  the  editor  of  the  Mercure,  but  for 
M.  Marmontel.  I  thought  I  was  paying  him  a  very  hand- 
some compliment ;  he  construed  it  into  a  mortal  offense, 
and  became  an  irreconcilable  enemy.  He  wrote  against 
this  same  letter,  politely,  'tis  true,  but  with  a  bitterness 
that  is  perceptible  enough,  and  since  then  he  has  never  let 
slip  an  opportunity  of  injuring  me  in  society,  and  indirectly 
ill-treating  me  in  his  works  :  so  hard  is  it  to  manage  the 
very  touchy  self-love  of  your  literary  folks,  and  so  careful 
should  we  be,  in  the  compliments  we  pay  them,  to  leave  noth- 
ing that  can  be  construed  into  the  shadow  of  equivocation. 
(1759)  Restored  to  tranquillity  on  all  sides,  I  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  leisure  and  independence  in  which  I  found 
myself  to  resume  my  labors  more  connectedly.  I  finished 
the  Nouvdle  Heloise.  this  winter,  and  sent  it  to  Rey,  who 
had  it  printed  the  year  following.  This  work  was,  how- 
ever, again  broken  in  upon  by  a  little  matter  that  was  dis- 
agreeable enough  in  its  way.  I  learnt  that  preparations 
were  being  made  by  the  operatic  management  to  bring  out 
the  Dcvin  dtt  Village  again.  Enraged  at  seeing  these  fel- 
lows arrogantly  disposing  of  my  property,  I  took  up  the 
memorial  I  haci  sent  to  M.  d'Argenson,  and  which  had  re- 
mained unanswered,  and,  having  revised  it  a  little,  I  trans- 
mitted it  to  Count  Saint-Florentin,  who  had  succeeded 
M.  d'Argenson  in  the  Ojjera  department,  by  the  hand  of 
M.  Sellon,  French  Resident  at  Geneva,  along  with  a  letter, 
which  he  was  kind  enough  to  take  charge  of.  M.  de  Saint- 
Florentin  promised  an  answer,  but  never  sent  any.  Duclos, 
to  whom  I  communicated  what  I  had  done,  spoke  of  the 
matter  to  the  '  Petits  Violins,'  who  offered  to  return  me, 
not  my  Opera,  but  ray  right  of  entry,  which  I  could  no 
longer  take  advantage  of.  Seeing  that  there  was  no  jus- 
tice to  be  hoped  for  from  any  quarter,  I  let  the  affair  drop  ; 
and  the  Opera-directors  have  gone  on,  paying  no  attention 
to  my  expostulations,  drawing  their  profit  from  the  Devin 
du  Village,  and  disposing  of  it  as  though  it  were  their  own 

Eroperty,  whereas  it  most  incontestibly  belongs  to  nobody 
ut  me.* 

*    It  now  belongs  to  them,    by  virtue  of   an  arrangement    they  have 
quite  recently  entered  into  with  me  tc  that  eSect. 


248  Rousseau's  confessions. 

Since  I  had  shaken  oif  the  yoke  of  my  oppressors,  I 
led  a  quite  calm  and  peaceful  life.  If  I  was  deprived  of 
the  charm  of  over-deep  attachments,  I  was  at  the  same 
time  delivered  from  the  weight  of  their  chains.  Disgusted 
with  my  friend-protectors,  who  wished  to  have  me  under 
their  absolute  control,  whether  I  would  or  no,  and  bend 
me  in  spite  of  myself  to  their  pretended  services,  I  resolved 
henceforth  to  confine  myself  to  ties  of  simple  good  will,  which, 
without  laying  any  constraint  on  perfect  liberty,  constitute 
one  of  the  main  pleasures  of  life.  Equality  of  terms  must 
form  the  basis  of  intimacies  of  this  kind.  Of  these  I  had 
sufficient  to  enable  me  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  fellow- 
ship without  suffering  from  the  dependence  it  is  apt  to 
bring  ;  and  no  sooner  had  I  made  trial  of  this  sort  of  life, 
than  I  felt  it  was  the  thing  for  me  at  my  age — the  thing 
that  would  enable  me  to  finish  my  days  iu  peace,  far  re- 
moved from  the  storms,  the  quarrels  and  the  cavilings, 
wherein  I  had  so  recently  been  half  submerged. 

Dm'ing  my  residence  at  the  Hermitage,  and  since  my 
settlement  at  Montmorency,  I  had  formed  several  acquaint- 
ances in  my  neighborhood  that  1  found  agreeable,  and  which 
were  no  ways  hampering.  Chief  among  these  was  young 
Loyseau  de  Mauleon,  who  was  then  commencing  practice 
at  the  bar,  and  felt  doubtful  as  to  what  his  standing  would 
be.  I  did  not  share  this  doubt  ;  but  marked  out  for  him  the 
illustrious  career  he  is  now  running.  I  predicted  that,  if  he 
laid  down  rigid  rules  as  to  the  choice  of  cases,  and  never  be- 
came the  defender  of  aught  but  justice  and  virtue,  his  genius, 
elevated  by  this  sublime  sentiment,  would  rise  to  the  height 
of  the  most  renowned  orators.  He  followed  my  advice,  and 
has  reaped  the  fruit  thereof.  His  defense  of  M.  de  Fortes  is 
worthy  of  Demosthenes.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  coming 
every  year  and  spending  his  vacation  at  Saint-Brice,  a  quar- 
ter of  a  league  from  the  Hermitage,  on  the  fief  of  Mauleon, 
belonging  to  his  mother,  and  where  erst  the  great  Bossuet 
had  dwelt.  There  is  a  fief  for  you,  whereof  a  succession 
of  like  masters  would  render  nobility  a  difficult  matter  to 
sustain. 

There  was  also,  in  this  same  village  of  Saint-Brice, 
Guerin  the  publisher,  a  man  of  mind  and  culture,  amial)le, 
too,  and  of  the  highest  standing  hi  his  profession.     He  intro- 


.   PERIOD  II.      BOOK  X.       1159.  249 

duced  me  to  Jean  Neaulme,  the  Amsterdam  publisher,  a 
correspondent  and  friend  of  his,  who  afterwards  printed  the 
Einilc. 

I  had  another  acquaintance,  still  nearer  than  Saint-Brice, 
in  M.  Maltor,  cure  of  Grosley.  He  was  cut  out  more  for  a 
statesman  and  politician  than  a  village  cure,  and  he  ought  at 
least  to  have  had  a  diocese  to  govern :  if  the  talents  of  the  incum- 
bent had  aught  to  do  with  the  disposing  of  places,  he  cer- 
tainly would  have  had.  He  had  been  secretary  to  Count  du 
Luc,  and  was  intimately  acquainted  with  Jean  Baptiste 
Rousseau.  As  full  of  esteem  for  the  memory  of  that  illustri- 
ous exile,  as  of  horror  for  that  of  the  scoundrel  Saurin, 
who  had  wrought  his  ruin,  he  had  a  great  many  curious 
anecdotes  toucliing  both,  which  Seguy  had  not  got  in  his  life 
(still  in  manuscript)  of  R.,  and  he  assured  me  that  Count  du 
Luc,  far  from  having  anything  to  complain  of  in  his  conduct, 
had  entertained  the  warmest  friendship  for  him  even  to  the 
close  of  his  life.  M.  Maltor,  to  whom  M.  de  Vintimille  had 
given  this  rather  pleasant  retreat  on  the  death  of  his  patron, 
had  formerly  been  em2)loyed  in  a  multitude  of  aifau's  whereof, 
though  advanced  in  years,  he  still  preserved  a  most  vivid 
recollection,  and  reasoned  most  excellently  thereon.  His 
conversation  was  as  instructive  as  amusing,  and  in  no  manner 
tinged  or  tied  by  his  village-cureship.  He  united  the  man- 
ners of  the. gentleman  with  the  culture  of  the  scholar.  He 
was,  of  all  my  permanent  neighbors,  the  man  whose  compa- 
ny was  most  agreeable  to  me,  and  whom  I  most  regretted 
leavmg. 

At  Montmorency,  there  were  the  Oratorians,  and,  among 
others.  Father  Berthier,  professor  of  Natural  Philosophy,  to 
whom,  notwithstanding  some  little  tincture  of  pedantry,  I 
became  attached  on  account  of  a  certain  cordial  air  of  good 
nature  I  found  in  him.  And  yet  I  had  some  difficulty 
in  reconciling  this  great  simplicity  with  a  proclivity  and 
knack  he  had  of  thrusting  himself  into  all  sorts  of  companies 
— among  the  great  and  the  women,  among  philosophers  and 
devotees.  He  knew  how  to  be  all  things  to  all  men.  I  grew 
very  fond  of  his  company,  and  spoke  of  him  to  all  my 
acquaintances.  What  I  said  of  him  would  seem  to  have 
come  to  his  ears.  He  one  day  thanked  me,  with  a  grin,  for  hav- 
ing thought  him  a  '  good-natured  fellow.'  There  was  an  iu- 
r.  11* 


250  Rousseau's  confessions. 

describable  sardonic  smile  on  his  countenance,  while  saying  this 
that,  to  my  eye  quite  altered  his  physiognomy,  and  which  has  of- 
ten occurred  to  my  mind  since.  I  can  compare  it  to  nothing  but 
the  expression  on  Pauurge's  countenance  while  buying  the 
sheep  of  Dindeuaut.  Om*  intimacy  had  commenced  shortly 
after  my  removal  to  the  Hermitage,  whither  he  very  fi-e- 
I  queutly  came  to  see  me.  Soon  after  I  went  to  Montmorency, 
iryyeft  that  place,  and  went  back  to  reside  in  Paris.  Here  he 
often  saw  Madam  Le  Vasseur.  One  day,  when  such  a  thing 
was  the  last  in  my  thoughts,  he  wrote  me  in  behalf  of  this 
woman,  informing  me  that  M.  Grimm  offered  to  support  her, 
and  asking  my  permission  for  her  to  accept  the  offer.  This 
I  understood  to  consist  in  a  pension  of  three  hundred  livres, 
and  the  proposition  was  that  Madam  Le  Yasseur  was  to 
come  and  hve  at  Deuil,  between  La  Chevi'ette  and  Montmo- 
rency. I  shall  not  say  what  impression  this  piece  of  news 
produced  on  me  ;  one  thing,  any  way  ;  it  would  have  been 
less  surprising  to  me  had  Grimm  had  ten  thousand  Uvres  a 
year,  or  any  comprehensible  connection  with  the  woman,  or, 
again,  had  not  such  a  crime  been  made  out  of  my  taking  her 
to  the  country,  whither,  nevertheless,  it  now  pleased  him  to 
bring  her  back,  as  though  she  had  got  rejuvinated  m  the 
interim.  I  saw  that  the  good  old  lady  asked  my  permission, 
which  she  might  very  easily  have  done  without,  had  I  refus- 
ed it,  only  that  she  might  not  expose  herself  to  losing  what  I 
gave  her.  Though  this  charity  appeared  to  me  very  extra- 
ordinary, it  did  not  strike  me  as  much  at  the  time  as  it  did 
afterwards.  But  even  had  I  known  all  I  have  since  penetrat- 
ed, I  would  none  the  less  have  given  my  consent,  as  I  did  and 
was  obliged  to  do,  unless  I  had  outbid  Grimm.  Thenceforth, 
Father  Berthier  cured  me  a  Uttle  of  my  incUnation  to  impute 
'good-nature'  to  him — an  imputation  he  liad  found  so  fanny, 
and  with  which  I  had  so  rashly  charged  him. 

This  same  Father  Berthier  was  intimate  with  two  men 
who,  I  know  not  why,  sought  my  acquaintance  :  there  was 
certainly  neitlier  suuilarity  nor  sympathy  between  om*  tastes. 
They  were  children  of  Melchisedec,  theh  parentage  and 
country  both  unkno\\-n,  as  were  also  in  all  probability  their 
real  names.  They  were  Jansenists,  and  passed  for  priests  in 
disguise,  perhaps  on  account  of  their  ridiculous  fashion  of 
wearing  rapiers  to  which  they  were- attached.     The  prodj- 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  X.      1159.  251 

gious  mystery  they  threw  around  all  theu*  proceedings  gave 
them  tlie  appearance  of  party-leaders,  and  I  have  never  had 
the  least  doubt  of  their  being  connected  with  the  Gazette 
ecdesiastique.  The  one  was  a  taU,  smooth-tongued,  Jesuitical 
chap,  calhug  himself  M.  Ferraud ;  the  other  a  short,  squat, 
sneering,  punctihous  fellow,  yclept  M.  Miuard.  They  dubbed 
each  other  '  cousm. '  When  in  Paris,  they  lodged  along 
with  d'Alembert,  at  his  nurse's,  a  Madam  Rousseau,  and 
they  had  taken  a  small  apartment  at  Montmorency  to  pass 
the  summer.  They  did  their  own  work,  employuig  neither 
servant  nor  runner.  They  took  tm'ns,  week  about,  buying 
provisions,  cooking,  sweeping  etc.  They  managed  pretty 
well  on  the  whole,  and  we  sometimes  eat  together.  What 
made  them  care  about  me,  I  know  not  :  for  my  part,  my 
only  interest  in  them  was  from  the  fact  of  their  playing  chess  ; 
and  to  make  up  a  poor  httle  party,  I  endm'ed  being  bored 
three  or  fom*  hom's  at  a  tmie.  As  they  had  a  proclivity  to 
poking  around  and  intermeddhng  with  everything,  Therese 
dubbed  them  the  '  Gossips,'  and  by  that  name  they  long  con- 
tinued to  be  known  at  Montmorency. 

Such,  including  my  host,  M.  Mathas,  were  my  chief  countiy 
acquaintances.  I  had  still  friends  enough  in  Paris  outside 
of  the  literary  class  to  live  agreeably  whenever  I  chose  to  ; 
in  it,  Duclos  was  the  only  one  I  could  reckon,  for  Deleyre 
was  still  too  young  ;  and  though  after  having  seen  into  the 
manoeuvres  of  the  philosophical  tribe,  he  withdrew  from  it 
altogether,  (at  least  I  thought  so),  I  could  not  yet  forget 
the  faciUty  with  which  he  had  allowed  himself  to  be  made 
the  mouth-piece  of  the  whole  gang. 

To  begin  with,  there  was  my  old  and  worthy  friend  Ro- 
guin.  He  was  a  friend  of  the  good  old  times  ;  I  did  not 
owe  him  to  my  books,  but  to  myself,  and  so  I  have  always 
preserved  him.  Then  there  was  the  good  Lenieps,  my  com- 
patriot, and  his  daughter  Madam  Lambert,  then  alive. 
There  was  also  a  young  Genevese,  named  Coiudet,  a  good 
lad,  as  I  thought,  careful,  obliging  and  zealous  ;  but  ignor- 
ant, concei^^ed,  gluttonous  and  forward  :  he  came  to  see  me 
shortly  after  my  removal  to  the  Hermitage,  and  without 
any  other  introducer  than  hmiself,  got  himself  in  with  us  m 
spite  of  me.  He  had  some  taste  for  drawing,  and  was  ac- 
quainted with  the  artists.     He  was  of  service  to  me  relative 


252  Rousseau's  confessions. 

to  the  engravings  for  the  Nouvdle  Heloise  ;  he  undertook 
the  direction  of  the  drawmgs  and  the  plates,  and  acquitted 
himself  well  of  the  commission. 

I  had  access  to  the  house  of  M.  Dupin,  which,  if  less 
brilUant  than  during  Madam  Dupin's  best  days,  was  still,  from 
the  worth  of  the  heads  of  the  family  and  the  choice  company 
that  assembled  there,  one  of  the  best  houses  in  Paris.  As  I 
had  not  preferred  anybody  to  them,  and  had  withdrawn  from 
them  only  to  live  mdependent,  they  always  received  me  in  a 
friendly  manner,  and  I  was  always  certain  of  meeting  with  a 
hearty  welcome  from  Madam  Dupin.  I  could  even  reckon 
her  among  my  country  neighbors  after  her  establishment  at 
Clichy,  whither  I  sometimes  went  and  passed  a  day  or  two, 
and  where  I  should  have  gone  more  frequently  had  Madam 
Dupin  and  Madam  de  Chenonceaux  been  on  better  terms. 
But  the  difficulty  of  dividing  myself  in  the  same  house  be- 
tween two  women  who  did  not  sympathize  with  each  other 
rendered  my  visits  to  Clichy  unpleasant.  Attached  to  Ma- 
dam de  Chenonceaux  by  a  more  equal  and  familiar  friend- 
ship, I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  more  at  my  ease  at 
Deuil,  which  was  almost  at  my  door,  and  where  she  had 
taken  a  small  house,  as  also  at  my  own  house,  where  she 
came  quite  often  to  see  me. 

There  was  Madam  Crequi,  too.  She  had  become  a  reg- 
ular devotee,  and  gave  up  seeing  the  d'Alemberts,  Marmon- 
tels  and  the  rest  of  the  hterats,  with  the  exception,  I  think, 
of  the  Abbe  Trublet,  a  sort  of  half  hypocrite  of  whom  I  guess 
she  was  sick  enough  herself  For  myself,  as  she  had  sought 
my  acquaintance,  I  lost  neither  her  good  wishes  nor  her 
correspondence.  She  sent  me  a  christmas-present  of  young 
fat  ]Mans  poulets,  and  had  arranged  to  come  and  see  me  the 
year  following,  when  a  visit  of  Madam  de  Luxemberg  pre- 
vented her.  i  owe  her  a  place  apart  here  ;  she  wiU  always 
hold  a  distinguished  one  in  my  memory. 

There  was  another  man  who,  after  Roguin,  should  hold 
the  first  place  on  ray  list.  This  was  my  old  friend  and 
brother  politician  Carrio,  formerly  Titulary  Secretary  to  the 
Spanish  Embassy  at  Yetiice,  afterwards  appointed  by  his 
court  Charge  des  Affaires  in  Sweden  and  finally  named 
real  Secretary  to  the  embassy  at  Paris.  He  came  in  on 
me  one  day  at  Montmorency  and  gave  me  quite  a  pleasant 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  X.       1159.  253 

surprise.  He  was  decorated  with  some  order  of  Spain, 
what  I  have  forgotten,  and  wore  a  beautiful  cross  set  in 
jewels.  He  had  been  obliged,  in  his  proofs  of  nobility,  to 
add  a  letter  to  his  name  of  Carrio,  and  came  out  as  the 
Chevalier  de  Carrion.  I  found  him  still  the  same,  his 
excellent  heart  unchanged,  and  his  disposition  becoming 
daily  more  amiable.  I  should  have  resumed  my  old  inti- 
macy with  him,  had  not  Coiudet,  coming  between  us  as 
usual,  taken  advantage  of  my  distance  from  town  to 
insinuate  himself  in  my  name  into  his  confidence,  and  sup- 
planted me  by  dint  of  zeal  in  serving  me. 

The  remembrance  of  Carrion  brings  to  mind  another 
of  my  country  neighbors  whom  I  would  be  all  the  more 
inexcusable  in  not  mentioning  as  I  have  to  make  confession 
of  a  very  pardonable  offence  I  was  guilty  of  towards  him. 
This  was  honest  M.  Le  Blond,  who  had  been  of  service  to 
me  in  Venice,  and  who,  having  come  with  his  family  on  a 
visit  to  France,  had  rented  a  country-house  at  La  Briche, 
not  far  from  Montmorency.*  As  soon  as  I  heard  he  was 
my  neighbor,  I  started  off  to  pay  him  a  visit,  in  the  joy  of 
my  heart  regarding  my  going  rather  as  a  festival  than  a 
duty.  On  my  way,  I  was  met  by  people  who  were  coming 
to  see  me,  and  with  whom  I  had  to  return.  Two  days 
after,  I  set  out  again  ;  he  had  gone  to  dine  in  Paris  with 
his  whole  family.  A  third  time  I  tried,  he  was  at  home  : 
I  heard  women's  voices,  and  saw  a  coach  at  the  door  that 
alarmed  me.  I  wished,  at  least  for  the  first  time,  to  see 
him  at  my  ease,  and  talk  over  our  old  intimacy.  In  short, 
I  so  postponed  my  visit  from  day  to  day  that  the  shame  I 
felt  at  being  so  long  in  discharging  such  a  duty  prevented 
me  from  doing  it  at  all.  I  had  waited  so  long  that  I  could 
not  venture  to  go.  This  neglect,  at  which  M.  Le  Blond 
could  not  but  have  been  justly  offended,  gave  the  appear- 
ance of  ingratitude  to  my  indolence  ;  and  yet  I  felt  so 
little  guilty  at  heart,  that  had  it  been  in  my  power  to  do 
M.  Le  Blond  any  real  service,  even  unbeknown  to  him- 
self, I  am  certain  I  would  not  have  been  found  idle.  That 
is  the  way,  though  :  indolence,  negligence  and  the  putting 

*  When  I  wrote  this,  full  of  my  old  blind  confidence,  I  was  verv  far 
from  suspecting  the  true  motive  for  and  the  etlect  of  this  journey  to 
Paris. 


254  EOUSSEAU'S  CONFESSIONS. 

ofiF  of  little  duties  to  be  performed,  have  been  more  pre- 
judicial to  me  than  great  vices  would  have  been.  My  worst 
sins  have  been  sins  of  omission  :  I  have  rarely  done  what  I 
ought  not  to  have  done,  and  unfortunately  I  have  still  more 
rarely  done  what  I  ought. 

Talking  about  ray  Venitian  acquaintances,  by  the  way, 
I  ought  not  to  forget  one  I  kept  up  a  good  while  after  I 
had  dropped  intercourse  with  the  rest.  I  refer  to  M.  de 
Joiuville,  who  had  continued,  after  his  return  from  Genoa, 
to  show  me  much  kindness.  He  was  very  fond  of  seeing 
me  and  talking  over  the  affairs  of  Italy  and  the  follies  of 
M.  de  Montaigu,  touching  whom  he  had  picked  up  quite  a 
number  of  anecdotes  in  the  bureaux  for  foreign  affairs,  with 
which  he  had  a  great  deal  to  do.  I  had  also  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  at  his  house  my  old  comrade  Dupont,  who  had 
bought  a  post  in  his  Province,  the  affairs  of  which  brought 
him  to  Paris  now  and  then.  M.  de  Joiuville  became  little 
by  little  so  eager  to  have  me  come  and  see  him  that  he 
grew  positively  troublesome  ;  and  though  we  lived  quite  a 
distance  apart,  we  would  have  a  regular  spat  if  I  let  a 
whole  week  go  by  without  going  and  dining  with  him. 
When  he  went  to  Joiuville,  he  would  always  have  me  ac- 
company him  ;  but  having  gone  once  and  passed  a  weari- 
some week,  I  could  never  be  induced  to  return  again.  M. 
de  Joinville  v/as  certainly  an  honest,  clever  fellow,  to  be 
liked  in  certain  ways  ;  but  his  mind  was  below  mediocrity  ; 
he  was  handsome,  a  trifle  of  a  coxcomb,  and  intolerably 
borous.  He  had  a  singular,  and  perhaps  unique  collection, 
with  which  he  occupied  himself  a  good  deal,  and  which  he 
was  addicted  to  inflicting  on  his  guests,  who  did  not  always 
find  it  so  amusing  as  he  did.  This  was  a  very  complete 
collection  of  all  the  Court  and  Paris  vaudevilles  for  fifty 
years  back,  containing  a  multitude  of  anecdotes  that  you 
might  seek  for  in  vain  anywhere  else.  There  are  materials 
for  the  history  of  France  for  you,  that  would  hardly  be 
thought  of  in  any  other  country  ! 

One  day,  while  we  were  still  on  the  very  best  of  terms, 
he  received  me  so  coldly,  so  differently  from  his  usual  man- 
ner, that  after  giving  him  an  opportunity  to  come  to  an 
explanation,  and  even  bogging  him  to  do  so,  I  left  his 
house  with  the  determination — and  I  have  kept  it — never 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  X.     1759.  255 

to  set  foot  in  it  again  ;  for  people  do  not  often  see  me 
again  after  tliey  have  once  received  me  ill,  and  there  was 
no  Diderot,  in  this  instance,  to  plead  for  M.  de  Joinville. 
I  tried  and  tried,  but  in  vain,  to  discover  what  I  had  done 
to  oiFend  him  :  I  could  not  for  the  life  of  me  think.  I  felt 
sure  of  never  having  spoken  either  of  him  or  his  but  in 
the  most  honorable  manner  ;  for  I  was  sincerely  attached 
to  him,  and,  aside  from  the  fact  of  my  having  nothing  but 
good  things  to  say  of  him,  I  have  made  it  an  inviolable 
principle  never  to  speak  otherwise  than  honorably  of  the 
houses  I  frequented. 

At  last,  by  dint  of  ruminating,  here  is  the  conjecture  I 
came  to.  The  last  time  we  had  seen  each  other,  we  took 
supper  together  at  the  house  of  some  girls  of  his  acquaint- 
ance, along  with  two  or  three  clerks  in  the  office  of  Foreign 
Affairs,  very  capital  fellows,  who  did  not  look  or  act  the 
least  like  libertines  ;  and,  for  my  own  part,  I  can  truly  de- 
clare, that  the  evening  passed  in  rather  melancholy  medita- 
tion on  the  wretched  fate  of  these  poor  creatures.  I  did 
not  pay  any  share  of  the  reckoning,  seeing  that  M.  de 
Joinville  had  invited  us  to  supper  ;  nor  did  I  give  the  girls 
anything,  because  I  did  not,  as  with  the  Padoana,  give 
them  an  opportunity  of  establishing  a  claim  to  the  payment 
I  might  have  oifered  them.  We  all  came  away  together 
in  high  spirits,  and  on  the  very  best  of  terms.  I  did  not 
go  back  to  see  the  girls,  but  three  or  four  days  afterwards 
I  went  to  dine  with  M.  de  Joinville,  whom  I  had  not  seen 
meanwhile,  and  then  it  was  he  gave  me  the  reception 
whereof  I  have  spoken.  Unable  to  imagine  any  other 
cause  for  it  than  some  misunderstanding  relative  to  the 
said  supper,  and  seeing  he  was  not  minded  to  offer  any  ex- 
planation of  the  matter,  I  determined  to  give  up  seeing 
him  altogether.  I  continued  to  send  him  my  works,  how- 
ever ;  he  frequently  sent  me  his  compliments,  and  meeting 
him  one  evening  in  the  green-room  of  '  La  Comedie,'  he  re- 
proached me  in  a  friendly  way  for  not  calling  to  see  him  : 
this  did  not  get  me  to  go  back,  though.  Thus  this  affair 
was  more  of  a  huff  than  a  regular  rupture.  However,  hav- 
ing neither  seen  nor  heard  of  him  since  then,  it  would  have 
been  too  late  to  come  back  to  him  after  an  interruption  of 
several  years.     This  is  why  M.  de  Joinville  is  not  mentioned 


256  Rousseau's  coxfessions. 

here  in  my  list,  albeit  I  was  for  a  good  while  quite  intimate 
with  him. 

Nor  will  I  swell  the  catalogue  with  the  uames  of  many 
other  persons  with  whom  I  was  less  intimate,  or  who,  as 
they  were  out  of  sight,  also  dropt  out  of  mind  in  a  manner, 
whom,  nevertheless,  I  still  continued  to  see  at  times  in  the 
country,  either  at  my  own  house  or  at  some  of  the  neigh- 
bors ;  as,  for  instance,  the  Abbe  de  Condillac,  the  A.bbe 
de  Mably,  M.M.  de  Mairan,  de  Lalive,  de  Boisgelou, 
Watelet,  Ancelet  and  others  too  numerous  to  mention.  I 
shall  also  pass  lightly  over  M.  de  Margency,  Gentleman  in 
Ordinary  to  the  king,  a  whilom  member  of  the  Holbach 
coterie,  which  he  had  thrown  up  like  myself,  and  an  old 
friend  of  Madam  d'Epinay,  from  whom  he  had  separated  as 
I  had.  So  too,  with  his  friend  Desmahis,  the  celebrated — 
ephemerally  celebrated — author  of  the  comedy  of  '  L^Im- 
pertinent.^  Margency,  by  the  way,  was  a  country  neighbor 
of  mine,  his  estate  of  'Margency'  being  near  Montmorency. 
We  were  old  acquaintances  ;  but  our  proximity  and  a  cer- 
tain conformity  of  experience  brought  us  still  closer. 
Desmahis  died  shortly  afterwards.  He  was  a  man  of  worth 
and  mind  ;  but  was  a  bit  the  original  of  his  comedy,  some- 
what of  a  coxcomb  with  the  women,  and  he  was  not  much 
regretted. 

I  cannot,  however,  pass  over  a  new  correspondence  I 
entered  into  at  tliis  period,  as  it  has  had  too  great  an  influ- 
ence over  my  subsequent  life  for  me  to  neglect  marking  its 
commencement.  I  refer  to  M.  de  Lamoignon  de  Males- 
herbes,  first  President  of  the  Court  of  Aids  and  Censor  of 
books  at  the  time,  an  ofiice  he  filled  with  equal  intelligence 
and  mildness  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  all  men  of  letters. 
I  had  not  been  once  to  see  him  at  Paris  ;  and  yet  I  had 
always  received  the  most  kindly  accommodation  relative  to 
his  censorship  ;  and  I  was  aware  that  he  had  more  than 
once  rather  roughly  handled  certain  persons  that  wrote 
against  me.  I  received  new  marks  of  his  kindness  in  the 
bringing  out  of  the  Nouvdle  lUhise.  The  proofs  of  so 
large  a  work  being  very  expensive  to  have  brought  from 
Amsterdam  by  post,  he  permitted  them  to  1)6  addressed  to 
him  under  his  'frank,'  and  transmitted  them  to  me  free  of 
charge,  under  the  countersign  of  his  father  the  Chancelor. 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  X.       1*159.  257 

When  the  work  was  out,  he  would  not  permit  the  sale  of 
it  in  the  kingdom,  till,  contrary  to  my  wishes,  an  edition 
had  gone  off,  the  entire  profits  of  which  he  wished  me  to 
receive.  As  this  would  just  have  been  to  take  so  much  out 
of  Key's  pocket,  to  whom  I  had  sold  my  manuscript,  I  not 
only  refused  to  accept  the  present  without  his  consent — 
which  he  very  generously  granted — but  I  was  desirous  of 
dividing  the  hundred  pistoles,  the  amount  of  the  profits, 
with  him,  and  of  which  he  would  have  nothing.  For  these 
hundred  pistoles  I  had  the  mortification — whereof  M. 
de  Malesherbes  had  not  forewarned  me — of  seeing  my  work 
horribly  mutilated,  and  having  the  sale  of  the  correct  edi- 
tion delayed  until  the  bad  one  was  entirely  disposed  of. 

I  have  always  regarded  M.  de  Malesherbes  as  a  man 
of  the  most  Stirling  honesty.  Nor  has  aught  that  has  be- 
fallen me  ever  for  a  moment  made  me  doubt  his  probity  ; 
but,  as  weak  as  he  is  obliging,  he  sometimes  harms  those 
he  wishes  to  serve  by  his  very  zeal  for  their  safety.  Not 
only  did  he  expunge  a  hundred  pages  of  the  Paris  edition, 
but  he  took  a  liberty  with  the  copy  of  the  corrected  edition 
he  sent  Madam  de  Pompadour  that  certainly  bordered 
very  close  on  infidelity.  It  is  somewhere  said  in  the  work, 
that  the  wife  of  a  coal-heaver  is  more  worthy  of  respect 
than  the  mistress  of  a  prince.  This  phrase  came  up  in 
the  heat  of  composition,  without  any  application,  I  swear. 
On  reading  the  work  over,  however,  I  saw  that  people 
would  make  the  application.  And  yet,  from  the  very  im- 
prudent principle  I  had  adopted  of  never  suppressing  any- 
thing from  regard  to  the  interpretations  that  might  be 
made  thereof,  provided  my  conscience  bore  me  witness  that 
I  had  not  intended  them  when  writing  the  passage,  I  de- 
termined to  let  the  phrase  stand,  contenting  myself  with 
substituting  the  word  'prince'  in  place  of  'king',  which  I 
had  at  first  written.  This  softening  did  not  appear  suffi- 
cient to  M.  de  Malesherbes,  so  he  had  a  new  sheet  struck 
off  on  purpose  in  which  he  left  out  the  whole  phrase,  and 
then  inserted  it  as  skillfully  as  possible  into  Madam  de 
Pompadour's  copy.  She  got  wind  of  this  piece  of  legerde- 
main :  certain  kind  souls  volunteered  to  let  her  into  it. 
For  my  own  part,  I  never  knew  of  the  matter  till  long  aftar 
I  had  beffun  to  feel  its  effects. 


258  Rousseau's  confessions. 

Is  not  this,  too,  the  primal  cause  of  the  covert  but  im- 
placable hatred  of  another  lady  who  was  in  a  similar  situa- 
tion without  my  knowing  it,  nay,  without  my  even  being 
aware  of  such  a  person  when  penning  the  passage  ?  * 
When  the  book  came  to  be  published,  however,  I  had  made 
her  acquaintance,  and  I  felt  very  uneasy  as  to  the  issue. 
I  mentioned  the  matter  to  the  Chevalier  de  Lorenzi,  who 
laughed  at  me,  aflfirming  that  so  far  from  the  lady's  being 
offended  at  the  expression,  she  had  not  even  noticed  it. 
I  believed  him,  a  little  lightly,  may  be,  and  made  myself 
easy  when  there  was  great  occasion  for  me  to  feel  quite 
otherwise. 

At  the  beginning  of  winter,  I  received  a  new  mark  of 
M.  de  Malesherbes'  kindness.  Though  keenly  alive  thereto, 
I  did  not,  however,  judge  it  proper  to  take  advantage  of 
it.  There  was  a  place  vacant  on  the  Journal  des  Savants. 
Margency  wrote  me,  as  though  from  his  proper  motion, 
proposing  it  to  me,  though  it  was  easy  for  me  to  see  from 
the  turn  of  his  letter  f  that  he  had  received  instructions, 
and  been  authorized  to  make  me  this  offer,  and  indeed  he 
confessed  as  much  to  me  afterwards.  J  The  duties  of  the 
post  were  but  trifling.  All  there  was  to  do  was  to  make 
two  extracts  a  month  from  books  sent  for  the  purpose, 
without  being  obliged  to  go  to  Paris  at  all,  not  even  to 
pay  the  magistrate  a  visit  of  thanks.  This  would  have 
introduced  me  to  the  society  of  the  first  of  the  literati,  as 
MM.  de  Mairan,  Clairaut,  de  Guignes  and  the  Abbe  Bar- 
thelemy,  the  first  two  of  whom  1  already  knew,  and  the 
other  two  were  good  persons  to  be  acquainted  with.  In 
fine,  in  consideration  of  this  trifling  task,  which  I  could  so 
handily  have  done,  there  was  a  salary  of  eight  hundred 
francs  attached  to  the  post.  I  deliberated  several  hours 
before  making  up  my  mind,  though  I  can  truly  declare 
that  the  only  reason  of  my  doing  so  at  all,  was  the  fear  of 
offending  Margency  and  displeasing  M.  de  Malesherbes. 
But,  the  insupportable  constraint  of  not  having  it  in  my 
power  to  work  at  my  own  time  and  being  limited  to  set 
periods,  much  more  still  the  certainty  of  performing  the 

*  The  Countess  de  Boufflers,  mistress  of  Prince  de   Conti.     Tr. 
t  File  C,  No.  33. 
X  File  C,  No.  34 


PERIOD  11.      BOOK  X.     1759.  259 

duties  I  was  to  take  upon  me  badly,  carried  the  day  ;  so 
I  determined  to  refuse  a  place  for  which  I  was  unfit.  I 
knew  that  all  the  talent  I  had  came  from  a  certain  warmth 
of  soul  wherewith  the  subject  I  had  to  treat  of  inspired  me, 
and  that  naught  but  the  love  of  the  Great,  the  Beautiful, 
the  True  had  the  power  to  clap  wings  to  my  genius.  What 
did  I  care  about  the  subjects  of  the  most  part  of  the  books 
I  would  have  had  to  extract  from  ;  what  about  the  books 
themselves?  My  indilference  for  the  thing  would  have 
cramped  my  pen  and  stultified  my  mind.  They  conceived 
I  could  make  a  trade  of  writing,  and  give  them  so  much 
to  order  like  the  literats  in  general ;  not  knowing  that  I 
could  never  write  but  from  passion — an  article  for  which  I 
guess  there  was  no  great  demand  on  the  Journal  des  Sa- 
vants! Accordingly,  I  wrote  Margency  a  letter  of  thanks, 
couched  in  the  politest  possible  terms,  wherein  I  so  well 
showed  up  my  reasons,  that  it  was  impossible  for  either 
bim  or  M.  de  Malesherbes  to  think  that  there  was  the 
least  tincture  of  pride  or  humor  in  my  refusal.  And  indeed, 
they  both  approved  of  it,  without  feeling  a  whit  the  less 
kindly  towards  me  ;  and  the  secret  was  so  well  kept  that 
the  public  never  got  the  least  wind  of  the  affair. 

This  proposition  did  not  come  at  a  favorable  moment 
for  me  to  accede  to  it ;  for  I  had  made  up  my  mind,  for 
some  time  back,  to  throw  up  literature  altogether,  and  more 
especially  the  trade  of  authorship.  All  that  had  recently 
befallen  me  completely  disgusted  me  with  literary  persons  ; 
and  at  the  same  time  I  had  learnt  that  it  was  impossible 
to  pursue  the  same  career  with  them  without  being  con- 
nected in  some  sort  with  them.  Nay,  for  that  part  of  it, 
I  was  just  about  as  much  disgusted  with  society  in  general, 
and  particularly  the  mixed  life  I  had  lately  been  leading, 
belonging  half  to  myself  and  half  to  circles  in  which  I  felt 
out  of  my  element.  I  realized  more  powerfully  than  ever, 
and  by  a  constant  experience,  that  all  unequal  association 
is  always  disadvantageous  to  the  weaker  party.  Mingling 
with  opulent  persons,  and  in  a  station  different  from  what 
I  had  chosen,  though  I  did  not  of  course  keep  up  an  estab- 
lishment like  them,  still  I  was  obliged  in  many  ways  to 
imitate  them  ;  and  a  set  of  trifling  expenses,  nothing  to 
them,  were  to  me  as  ruinous  as  they  were  inevitable.     Let 


260  Rousseau's  coxff.ssioxs. 

another  man  go  to  a  friend's  couutry-bouse,  he  is  waited 
on  by  his  own  servant,  as  well  at  table  as  in  his  chamber  ; 
he  sends  him  for  everything  he  wants  ;  having  nothing  to 
do  directly  with  the  servants  of  the  house,  not  even  see- 
ing them,  if  he  gives  them  any  presents  at  all,  he  gives  it 
in  what  shape  and  at  what  time  soever  he  pleases  ;  but  as 
for  me,  alone  and  unattended  by  servants,  I  was  at  the 
mercy  of  those  of  the  house,  whose  good  graces  I  had  to 
gain  so  as  not  to  suffer  much  ;  and,  treated  as  their  mas- 
ter's equal,  I  had  to  treat  them  so  too  ;  nay,  I  was  obliged 
to  do  even  more  for  them  than  another  would,  seeing  that 
I  stood  in  greater  need  of  their  services.  This  was  all 
very  well,  at  least  it  was  endurable  enough,  where  there 
were  but  few  domestics  ;  but  in  the  houses  where  I  visited 
there  were  a  great  many — a  set  of  keen  knaves,  all  wide 
awake  to  their  own  interest,  and  managing  so  to  fix  things 
that  1  had  need  of  all  of  them  in  succession.  The  women 
of  Paris,  distinguished  as  they  are  for  their  large  sense, 
have  no  correct  notions  on  this  head,  and  through  their 
very  zeal  to  spare  my  purse,  they  contrived  to  ruin  me. 
If  1  chanced  to  take  supper  in  town,  at  some  little  distance 
from  my  home,  instead  of  permitting  me  to  send  for  a  hack, 
the  mistress  of  the  house  would  order  the  horses  to  be  put 
in,  and  have  me  sent  home  in  her  carriage  :  hugely  de- 
lighted was  she  at  the  idea  of  saving  me  the  twenty-four 
sous  hack-fare  ;  as  to  the  crown  I  gave  her  coachman  and 
lackey,  I  guess  that  did  not  enter  her  head.  Did  a  lady 
write  me  from  Paris  to  the  Hermitage  or  to  Montmorency, 
deeply  regretting  the  four  cents  postage  I  would  have  to 
pay,  she  would  send  it  by  one  of  her  servants,  who  arrived 
on  foot  all  in  a  sweat,  and  to  whom  I  gave  his  dinner  and 
a  crown,  which  he  had  certainly  well  earned.  Did  she  pro- 
pose that  I  should  go  and  pass  a  week  or  fortnight  at  her 
country-scat,  she  would  say  to  herself:  'It  will  always  be 
a  saving  for  the  poor  fellow  ;  while  he  stays,  his  board  will 
cost  him  nothing.'  She  did  not  take  into  her  calculation 
that,  on  the  other  hand,  I  would  be  idle  ail  the  time  ;  that 
the  expenses  of  my  family,  ray  rent,  washing  and  clothes 
were  still  going  on  ;  that  I  paid  my  barber  double,  and 
that  on  the  whole  it  cost  me  more  to  live  with  her  than  it 
would  at  home.     Though  I  confined  my  little  largesses  to 


fERIOD  II.       BOOK  X.       1*159.  261 

the  houses  I  frequented,  they  were  ruinous  after  all.  I  am 
sure  I  gave  away  full  five-and-twenty  crowns  at  Eaubonue 
(Madam  d'Houdetot's),  where  I  never  slept  more  thaa 
four  or  five  times  in  all,  and  more  than  a  hundred  pistoles 
as  well  at  Epiuay  as  at  La  Chevrette,  during  the  five  or 
six  years  that  I  was  most  frequent  in  my  visits.  These 
outlays  are  inevitable  for  a  man  of  my  humor,  who  can 
neither  do  anything  for  himself,  nor  cudgel  his  brains  to  any 
practical  issue,  nor  yet  support  the  sight  of  a  lackey  that 
grumbles  and  serves  you  in  a  huff.  At  Madam  Dupin's 
even,  where  I  was  one  of  the  family,  and  where  I  did  the 
servants  a  thousand  services,  I  never  got  them  to  do  any- 
thing for  me  but  for  a  consideration.  In  course  of  time  I 
was  compelled  to  renounce  these  little  liberalities  alto- 
gether, as  my  situation  would  not  allow  of  my  continuing 
them  ;  and  then  it  was  I  felt  still  more  keenly  thaa 
ever  the  inconvenience  of  associating  with  people  of  a  dif- 
ferent station  from  one's  self. 

Then,  had  this  sort  of  life  been  to  my  liking,  I  might 
have  found  some  consolation  for  these  heavy  outlays  in  the 
consciousness  that  I  was  ministering  to  my  enjoyment ;  but 
to  ruin  myself  while  being  all  the  while  bored  to  death, 
was  a  little  too  much  ;  and  I  had  made  such  full  trial  of  the 
burden  of  this  kind  of  life,  that,  profiting  by  the  interval 
of  liberty  I  now  had  at  my  command,  I  determined  to  per- 
petuate it,  and  resolved  to  renounce  wholly  and  for  ever 
all  large  companies,  as  also  the  composition  of  books  and 
all  literary  concerns,  and  confine  myself  for  the  remainder 
of  my  days  within  the  narrow  and  peaceful  sphere  whereto 
I  felt  born. 

The  profits  of  the  Letter  to  d'Akmhert  and  the  Nouvdle 
Heloise  had  somewhat  replenished  my  purse,  sadly  run  down 
at  the  Hermitage.  I  saw  myself  with  near  a  thousand 
crowns. .  The  Emik,  which  I  had  gone  right  into  after  fin- 
ishing up  the  Nouvdle  Heloise,  was  in  a  state  of  forwardness, 
and  its  produce  I  might  safely  calculate  would  double  this 
amount.  I  designed  putting  out  this  capital  in  such  a  way 
that  it  would  brmg  me  in  a  small  yearly  income,  that  would, 
along  with  my  copymg,  be  sufficient  to  support  me  with- 
out writing  any  more.  I  had  still  two  works  on  the 
stocks.     The  first  was  my  Institutions  PolitiqiLcs.     I  examin- 


262  Rousseau's  confessions. 

ed  the  state  of  this  work,  and  found  it  would  require  several 
years'  hxbor  to  finish  it.  I  was  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  to  the 
carrying  out  of  my  resolution  that  I  had  not  courage  enough 
to  continue  it  and  wait  till  I  got  through.  So,  throwing  up 
the  book  itself,  I  determined  to  extract  all  that  could  be  ex- 
tracted, and  burn  the  rest.  Accordingly,  pushing  this  work 
zealously  on,  without  interrupting  the  Emi/e,  I  in  two  years' 
time  put  the  last  hand  to  the  Contro.t- Social. 

Remained  the  '  Musical  Dictionary.'  This  was  a  mere 
mechanical  affair,  that  could  be  taken  up  at  any  time,  and  in 
doing  which  I  had  only  a  pecuniary  end  in  view.  I  deter- 
mined, accordingly,  that  I  would  either  throw  it  aside  or 
finish  it  up  at  my  ease,  according  as  my  means  might  require 
it  or  no.  As  for  the  Moral  Sensitive,  at  which  I  had  done 
nothmg  but  draw  out  the  sketch,  I  resolved  to  give  it  up 
altogether. 

Havmg  as  a  last  resort,  if  I  found  I  could  get  along 
entirely  without  copying,  the  project  of  removing  to  a  dis- 
tance from  Paris,  where  the  crowd  of  visitors  that  intruded 
themselves  on  me  rendered  house-keeping  expensive  and  de- 
prived me  of  the  tune  I  might  otherwise  have  spent  in  pro- 
viding for  my  subsistence  ;  to  get  rid  of  the  ennui  whereinto 
an  author  is  said  to  fall  when  he  has  laid  aside  the  pen,  I  re- 
served to  myself  an  occupation  wherewith  to  fill  up  the  void 
of  solitude,  without  temptmg  me  to  print  anything  more 
while  living.  I  know  not  from  what  whim  Rey  had  long 
been  urging  me  to  write  the  memoirs  of  my  life.  Though 
these  were  not,  up  to  that  time,  particularly  interesting  as 
to  facts,  I  felt  that  they  might  be  made  so  by  the  frankness 
which  I  knew  it  was  in  me  to  put  into  them,  and  I  resolved 
to  make  a  unique  work,  unique  from  the  unexampled  vera- 
city with  which  I  should  unfold  my  story,  and  thus  for 
once  give  the  world  the  history  of  a  man  in  the  actual  line- 
aments of  his  nature  and  Ufe.  I  had  always  laughed  at  the 
queer  naivete  of  Montaigne,  who,  while  pretending  to  avow 
his  faults,  takes  good  care  all  along  to  confess  to  nothing 
but  certain  amiable  weaknesses  ;  whereas  I  felt — I  who 
have  always  thought  and  still  think  myself,  take  me  all  in 
all,  the  best  of  men — that  there  is  no  man,  be  he  pure  in  soul 
as  mortal  may  be,  in  whose  inmost  self  some  odious  vice  finds 
not  a  lurking-place.     I  knew  that  I  was  painted  to  the 


PERIOD  II.      BOOKX     1159.  263 

world  in  colors  so  unlike  the  real  ones,  in  features  so  warped 
and  wrung  from  tiie  fact,  that,  spite  of  all  the  ill  I  might 
say  of  myself — and  I  was  determined  to  out  with  it  all — I 
would  still  be  a  gainer  by  exhibiting  myself  in  my  actuality. 
Besides,  as  this  purpose  could  not  be  developed  without  at 
the  same  time  revealing  the  true  nature  of  many  other  per- 
sons, and  consequently  the  work  could  not  appear  till  after 
the  death  of  me  and  all  concerned,  I  was  further  emboldened 
to  make  my  confession — a  confession  at  which  I  should  never 
need  to  blush.  Accordingly,  I  resolved  to  consecrate  my 
leisure  to  the  faithful  execution  of  this  undertaking,  and  set 
to  collecting  together  such  letters  and  papers  as  might  guide 
or  awaken  my  memory,  deeply  regretting  the  many  I  had 
torn  up,  burned,  or  lost. 

This  design  of  retiring  into  complete  seclusion,  one  of  the 
most  sensible  I  ever  formed,  grew  out  to  completeness  and 
determination,  and  I  had  even  advanced  well  on  the  way 
thereto,  when  fate  raised  a  new  whii-lwind  around  my  hapless 
head, 

Montmorency,  the  ancient  and  illustrious  patrkuony  of  the 
family  of  that  name,  had  passed  out  of  the  hands  of  its  right- 
ful owners  by  confiscation.  It  was  transferred  by  the  sisters 
of  Duke  Henry  to  the  house  of  Conde,  which  changed  the 
name  of  Montmorency  into  that  of  Enghien  ;  and  this  duchy 
contains  no  other  castle  than  an  old  tower  M'here  the 
archieves  are  kept  and  where  the  homage  of  the  vassals  is 
received.  It  does,  however,  contain  a  private  house,  built  by 
Croisat,  surnamed  '  the  Poor,^  which,  as  it  possesses  all  the 
magnificence  of  the  most  superb  chateau,  deserves  and  bears 
the  name  of  castle.  The  imposing  aspect  of  this  beautiful 
edifice,  the  terrace  whereon  it  is  built,  the  view  from  it,  un- 
equalled perhaps  in  any  country,  its  vast  hall  painted  by  a 
master-hand,  its  garden  planted  by  the  celebrated  Le  Nostre 
— all  concur  to  form  a  whole  in  whose  striking  majesty  there 
is  yet  a  simphcity  that  fills  and  feeds  the  imagination.  M. 
le  Marechal,  due  de  Luxembourg,  who  then  occupied  the 
house,  was  in  the  habit  of  coming  twice  every  year  into  this 
part  of  the  country,  where  erst  his  ancestors  held  sway,  and 
passing  five  or  six  weeks,  as  a  simple  resident,  but  with  a 
magnificence  that  quite  came  up  to  the  antique  splendor  of 
nis  house.     The  first  visit  he  made  subsequent  to  my  establish- 


264  Rousseau's  coxfessioxs. 

ment  at  Montmorency,  he  sent  a  valet  de  chambre  with  the 
compliments  of  himself  and  Madam  la  Marechale,  in- 
viting me  to  sup  with  them  as  often  as  it  might  be  agreeable 
to  me.  Each  after  visit,  they  never  failed  reiterating  the 
compliments  and  the  invitation.  This  called  to  mind  Madam 
de  Beuzenval's  sending  me  to  dine  in  the  servants'  hall. 
Times  were  changed  ;  but  I  had  remained  the  same.  I  had 
no  great  fancy  for  bemg  sent  to  dine  with  the  flunkies,  and 
was  just  about  as  little  anxious  to  appear  at  the  tables  of 
the  great.  I  should  have  much  preferred  them  to  let  me 
alone,  without  seeking  either  to  humble  or  exalt  me.  I 
replied  poUtely  and  respectfully  to  the  advances  of  M.  and 
Mme.  de  Luxembourg,  but  I  did  not  accept  their  offer  ;  and 
to  such  a  degree  did  my  incommodities  and  my  tunid  dispo- 
sition, joined  to  my  embarrassment  m  speaking,  make  me 
tremble  at  the  mere  idea  of  presentmg  myself  in  an  as- 
sembly of  com't  persons  that  I  did  not  even  go  to  the 
chateau  to  pay  a  visit  of  thanks,  albeit  I  was  perfectly  well 
aware  that  tliis  was  what  they  were  after,  and  that  all  this 
anxiety  was  rather  a  matter  of  curiosity  than  genume 
kindness. 

Still,  however,  the  advances  went  on  apace,  went  on 
increasmg.  The  Countess  de  Boufiflers,  who  was  very  intim- 
ate with  the  Marchioness,  having  come  on  a  visit  to  Mont 
morency,  sent  to  inquire  regarding  my  health,  and  proposed 
to  come  and  see  me.  I  replied  suitably,  l)ut  budged  not  an 
inch.  At  their  Easter  visit  the  summer  following,  1159,  the 
Chevalier  de  Lorenzi,  who  belonged  to  the  court  of  Prince 
Conti,  and  was  intimate  with  Madam  de  Luxembourg,  came 
to  see  me  several  times  :  we  formed  an  acquaintance  ;  he 
pressed  me  to  go  to  the  chateau  :  I  stu*red  not  a  step.  At 
length,  one  afternoon,  when  sucli  a  thing  was  the  last  in  my 
head,  who  should  I  see  coming  along  but  M.  le  Maruchal  de 
Luxembourg,  followed  by  five  or  six  persons.  This  time, 
there  was  no  getting  round  it,  and  I  could  not,  under  penalty 
of  appearing  an  arrogant  clown,  avoid  returning  the  visit, 
and  going  and  paying  my  respects  to  Madam  la  Marechale, 
from  whom  he  was  the  bearer  of  the  kindest  communications. 
Thus,  under  fatal  auspices,  commenced  a  connection  I 
could  no  longer  avert,  but  which  a  presentunent,  all  too  well 
founded,  had  made  me  all  along  di'ead. 


PERIOD  11.     BOOK  X.       1*159.  2G5 

I  was  exceeding  afraid  of  Madam  de  Luxembouro:.  I 
knew  she  was  lovely.  I  had  seen  her  several  times  at  the 
theatre  and  at  Madam  Dupin's,  ten  or  a  dozen  years  ago  ; 
when  she  was  Duchess  de  Boufflers,  and  in  the  bloom  of  her 
beauty.  But  she  had  the  name  of  being  mechante ;  and,  in 
a  woman  of  so  high  a  rank  as  herself,  this  made  me  tremble. 
Scarcely  had  I  seen  her  before  I  was  sulijugated.  I  found 
her  charming,  charming  with  a  charm  that  is  time-proof,  and 
which  has  all  the  more  powerful  effect  on  my  heart.  I 
counted  on  her  conversation  being  satu'ical  and  epigrammatic. 
Not  at  all ;  'twas  a  great  deal  better.  Madam  de  Luxem- 
bom'g's  conversation  is  not  of  the  sparkling-witty  sort  ;  it  is 
not  remarkable  for  sallies,  nor  even,  properly  speaking,  for 
subtlety  :  'tis  moulded  of  an  exquisite  deUcacy  that  is  never 
striking  but  always  pleasing.  Her  flattery  is  all  the  more 
intoxicating  from  its  perfect  simplicity  ;  you  would  say  it  fell 
from  her  lips  quite  unconsciously,  as  though  her  heart  was 
o'erflowing  simply  because  too  full.  I  seemed  to  myself  to 
discover,  from  my  very  first  visit  that,  spite  of  my  awkward- 
ness and  ungainly  speech,  I  was  not  displeasmg  to  her.  The 
com"t  ladies  all  know  how  to  persuade  one  into  this  idea, 
whether  it  be  so  or  not  ;  but  they  do  not  all  know,  as  does 
Madam  de  Luxembourg,  how  to  render  this  persuasion  so 
sweet  that  you  never  dream  of  doubting  its  sincerity.  My 
confidence  in  her  would,  from  the  very  first  day,  have  been 
as  full  and  hearty  as  it  soon  afterwards  became,  had  not  the 
Duchess  de  Montmorency,  her  daughter-in-law,  a  young  giddy- 
pate,  rather  malicious  and  a  bit  of  a  meddler,  as  I  think, 
taken  it  into  her  head  to  set  upon  me,  and,  what  with  her 
mamma's  lofty  eulogiums,  and  passes  of  teazing  coquetry  on 
fcer  part,  thrown  me  into  doubt  as  to  whether  I  was  not 
really  being  made  a  fool  of 

It  might,  perchance,  have  been  difficult  to  have  rid  me 
of  this  suspicion,  had  not  the  Marshal's  extreme  kmdness  as- 
sured me  that  their  conduct  was  sincere.  More  surprising 
it  would  be  unpossible  for  anything  to  be,  considering  my 
timid  disposition,  than  the  promptitude  wherewith  I  took 
hmi  at  his  word  regarding  the  footing  of  equality  to  which 
he  wished  to  reduce  himself  with  me,  unless  it  be  the  equal 
readiness  with  which  he  took  me  at  my  word  regarding  the 
absolute  independence  in  which  I  insisted  on  living.  Persu- 
II,  12 


266  RorrssEAu's  confessions. 

acled  both  of  them  that  I  was  right  in  being  content  with 
my  lot  and  in  resolving  not  to  change  it,  neither  he  nor 
Madam  de  Luxembourg  ever  seemed  the  least  anxious  for  a 
moment  to  concern  themselves  with  my  purse  or  fortune. 
Though  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  doubt  the  tender  inter- 
est they  both  felt  in  me,  yet  never  did  they  propose  any  place 
to  me  or  ofier  me  theu"  credit,  unless  it  be  on  one  siugle  oc 
casion,  when  Madam  de  Luxembourg  seemed  desu'ous  of 
having  me  enter  the  Academic  frangaise.  I  alleged  my 
religion  :  she  rephed  that  this  would  be  no  obstacle,  or  at 
least  that  she  would  see  that  it  was  removed.  I  answered 
that,  however  great  an  honor  it  might  be  for  me  to  become 
a  member  of  so  illustrious  a  body,  still  as  I  had  refused  the 
offer  of  M.  de  Tressan,  nay,  of  the  king  of  Poland  himself  in 
a  manner,  to  enter  the  Academy  at  Kancy,  I  could  not  with 
propriety  ever  after  become  a  member  of  any  other.  Madam 
de  Luxembourg  did  not  insist  any  farther,  so  the  matter  was 
dropped.  This  simphcity  of  intercourse  with  persons  of  such 
high  rank,  in  whom  dwelt  the  power  of  doing  anything  or 
everything  in  my  favor,  M.  de  Luxembourg  being — and  well 
deserving  to  be — the  King's  intimate  private  friend,  is  in 
singular  contrast  with  the  everlastmg  fuss  and  fret,  as  im- 
portunate as  it  was  officious,  of  the  protecting  friends  whom 
I  had  recently  abandoned,  and  who  sought  less  to  serve  than 
to  debase  me. 

When  the  Marshal  came  to  see  me  at  Mont-Louis,  I  had 
felt  uneasy  at  receiving  hun  and  his  suit  in  my  single  room, 
not  because  I  was  obliged  to  make  them  sit  down  amid  my 
dirty  plates  and  broken  pots,  but  because  the  rotten  floor 
was  fast  falling  in  and  I  was  afraid  that  the  weight  of  so 
many  persons  would  make  it  give  way  altogether  and  the 
whole  company  make  an  unpremeditated  visit  to  the  regions 
below.  Less  concerned  for  my  own  safety  than  on  thorns 
at  the  danger  to  which  my  good  lord's  affability  exposed  hun, 
I  hastened  to  get  him  out  of  the  way  by  conducting  him, 
notwithstauding  the  coldness  of  the  weather,  to  my  tower, 
which  was  quite  open  to  the  air  and  had  no  chimney.  On 
our  reaching  this  place,  I  told  him  my  reason  for  having 
brought  him  thither.  This  he  told  the  Marchioness,  and 
they  both  pressed  me  to  accept  lodgings  at  the  castle  until 
mv  floor  could  be  got  into  repair,  or,  if  I  preferred  it,  I  might 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  X.       1759.  267 

remove  to  an  isolated  edifice  which  was  in  the  middle  of  the 
park,  and  which  they  called  the  '  Little  Chateau.'  This  en- 
chanting abode  deserves  particular  notice.  '  ■•  -  i-^^-  •/ 
'The'park  or  garden  of  Montmorency  is  not  situated  in  a 
plain  like  that  of  La  Chevrette.  The  ground  is  undulating, 
interspersed  with  hill  and  dale,  a  characteristic  which  the 
/keen-eyed  artist  has  taken  advantage  of  to  give  variety  to 
/  the  woods  and  waters,  their  ornaments  and  views,  and  to 
f  multiply,  so  to  say,  by  the  power  of  art  and  genius  a  domain 
in  itself  rather  restricted.  The  park  is  crowned  by  the  ter- 
race and  chateau  ;  at  the  lower  end  it  forms  a  gorge  which 
opens  and  widens  towards  the  valley,  the  angle  of  which  ex- 
pands into  a  fine  sheet  of  water.  Between  the  orangery, 
which  occupies  this  expanse,  and  the  sheet  of  water  surrounded 
by  hills  beautifully  decorated  with  groves  and  trees,  stands 
the  '  Little  Chateau'  referred  to.  This  edifice  and  the  grounds 
about  it  formerly  belonged  to  the  celebrated  Le  Brun,  who 
had  taken  dehght  m  building  and  decorating  it  with  that  ex- 
quisite taste  in  ornament  and  architectm'e  that  this  great 
painter  had  formed  to  himself  This  chateau  has  since  been 
rebuilt,  but  still  after  the  design  of  the  first  master.  It  is 
small  and  simple,  but  elegant.  Being  in  a  hollow,  between 
the  orangery  and  the  large  sheet  of  water,  and  so,  subject 
to  dampness,  they  had  it  opened  in  the  middle  l^y  a  peristyle 
between  two  rows  of  columns,  whereby  the  air  has  free  play 
throughout  the  whole  edifice,  and  so  keeps  it  dry  notwith- 
standing its  situation.  When  you  look  at  the  building  from 
the  opposite  elevation  in  the  hue  of  perspective,  you  would 
think  it  was  entirely  surrounded  by  water,  and  hnagine  an  en- 
chanted isle  had  risen  before  your  gaze,  or  that  you  beheld 
the  Isola  hella,  in  lake  Majora,  loveliest  of  the  Borromeaus. 
It  was  in  this  lonely  edifice  that  they  gave  me  my  choice 
of  one  of  the  four  suits  of  apartments  it  contains,  besides  the 
ground-floor,  consisting  of  a  ball-room,  billiard-room  and  a 
kitchen.  I  chose  the  smallest  and  simplest,  lying  right  over 
the  kitchen,  which,  also,  I  had  with  it.  It  was  charmingly 
neat,  the  furniture  white  and  blue.  It  was  in  this  profound 
and  delicious  solitude,  amid  woods  and  waters,  bathed  in  the 
songs  of  bu-ds  of  every  note  and  the  perfume  of  orange  flow- 
ers, that  I  composed  in  one  long  ecstasy,  the  fifth  book  of 
the  Emk,  for  the  brilliant  coloring  of  which  I  was  certainly 


268  ROIJSSEAU'S  CONFESSIONS. 

indebted  to  the  profound  impression  made  on  me  by  the 
scenery  amid  which  I  wrote. 

With  what  eagerness  did  I  hasten  out  every  morning  to 
breathe  the  embalmed  air  on  the  peristyle  !  What  excellent 
coffee  (cafe  au  lait)  did  I  drink  here  tete-a-tete  with  my 
Therese  !  My  cat  and  dog  kept  us  company.  This  family 
would  have  sufficed  me  for  my  whole  hfe,  and  left  not  a  mo- 
ment for  ennui.  I  had  a  heaven  on  earth,  living  m  all  the 
innocence  and  enjoying  all  the  pleasures  of  Paradise!    /~"~ — 

On  their  visit  the  fol lowing' July,  M.  and  Mme;"de  Lux- 
embourg showed  me  so  many  attentions  and  showered  so 
many  kindnesses  on  my  head,  that,  living  as  I  was  in  then*  house, 
and  loaded  with  goodness  by  them,  I  could  not  do  less  in  re- 
turn than  visit  them  assiduously.  Accordingly,  I  was  with 
them  almost  all  the  time  :  in  the  morning  I  went  and  paid 
say  respects  to  Madam  la  Marechale,  staying  to  dinner  ;  in 
the  afternoon,  I  went  and  walked  with  the  Marshal,  though 
I  did  not  stay  to  supper  on  account  of  the  numerous  guests 
and  because  they  supped  too  late  for  me.  Thus  far,  all  was 
right,  and  had  I  but  remained  as  before,  all  would  have  been 
right.  But,  I  have  never  been  able  to  keep  to  the  middle 
course  in  my  attachments,  and  stop  short  at  simply  perform- 
ing the  devoirs  of  society.  I  have  always  been  everything 
or  nothing.  In  this  case,  too,  I  soon  pushed  matters  to  ex- 
tremes ;  and  seeing  myself  feted  and  spoiled  by  persons  of 
such  high  rank,  I  passed  the  bounds,  and  conceived  a  friend- 
ship for  them  not  permitted  save  from  one's  equals.  My 
manners  were  marked  by  all  the  familiarity  of  equaUty, 
whereas  they  in  their  behavior  never  relaxed  the  politeness 
to  which  they  had  accustomed  me.  And  yet  I  never 
felt  quite  at  my  ease  with  Madam  de  Luxembourg.  Though 
I  never  became  quite  reassured  as  to  her  disposition,  I 
feared  it  less  than  her  \^it.  That  was  the  rub.  I  was  aware 
that  she  was  difficult  to  please  in  conversation,  and  she  had 
a  right  to  be  so.  I  knew  that  women,  and  especially  great  ladies, 
will  be  amused  ;  that  you  had  better  offend  than  bore  them ; 
and  I  judged  from  her  comments  on  the  talk  of  the  persons 
who  had  just  left,  what  she  must  think  of  my  blockishness. 
To  supply  the  necessity  of  talking,  I  devised  a  substitute, 
namely,  reading.  She  had  heard  speak  of  the  Nouvdk 
Heloise  and  knew  it  was  in  press.     As  she  had  expressed  a 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  X.       1*159.  269 

strong  desire  to  see  the  work,  I  offered  to  read  it  to  her. 
This  offer  she  accepted.  I  went  to  her  every  morning  at  ten 
o'clock — M.  de  Luxembourg  came  in — the  door  was  closed, 
and  I  read  by  her  bed-side.  So  well  did  I  portion  out  my 
readings  that  there  would  have  been  enough  to  last  me  dur- 
ing the  whole  of  then-  visit,  even  had  they  not  been  broken 
in  upon.*  The  success  of  this  expedient  surpassed  my  expec- 
tation. Madam  de  Luxembourg  was  smitten  with  the  book 
and  its  author  ;  she  spoke  of  nobody  but  me — thought  of 
nothing  else — said  kind  things  to  me  the  day  long,  and  em- 
braced me  ten  times  a  day.  She  insisted  on  my  always  sit- 
ting by  her  at  table  ;  and  if  any  great  lord  or  other  made  to 
take  this  place,  she  would  tell  him  it  was  mine,  and  have  him 
sit  somewhere  else.  You  may  judge  what  an  impression 
these  charming  manners  made  on  me,  whom  the  least  mark 
of  affection  completely  melts.  I  became  really  attached  to 
her,  reciprocating  to  the  full  the  attachment  she  expressed  for 
me.  My  only  fear,  in  perceiving  this  fondness,  and  feeling  as 
I  did,  too,  in  how  limited  a  degree  I  possessed  the  qualities  cal- 
culated to  sustain  it,  was  lest  it  should  turn  into  disgust  ; 
unfortunately  for  me  this  fear  was  but  too  well  founded. 

There  must  surely  have  been  some  innate  antagonism 
between  the  make  of  our  minds,  since,  independent  of  the  mul- 
titude of  stupidities  that  every  moment  escaped  me  in  conver- 
sation, as  also  in  my  letters  even,  and  that,  too,  when  on  the 
very  best  of  terms  with  her,  there  were  certain  things  that 
displeased  her,  without  my  being  able  to  imagine  why.  I 
shall  cite  a  single  instance,  and  I  might  give  a  score.  She 
learned  I  was  writing  a  copy  of  the  Nouvelk  Heloise  for 
Madam  d'Houdetot  at  so  much  a  page.  She  wished  to  have 
one  on  the  same  terms.  I  promised  her  I  would  do  so  ;  and 
writing  her  down  accordingly  one  of  my  customers,  I  wrote 
her  a  very  courteous  and  pohte  letter  on  the  subject, — at 
least  such  was  my  intention. f  Her  answer  completely 
dumbfounded  me.     Here  it  is  : 


*  The  loss  of  a  great  battle,  which  greatly  afflicted  the  king,  obliged 
M.  de  Luxembourg  to  return  precipitately  to  court. 

t  This  letter  will  be  found  in  Rousseau''s  Correspondence  under  the  date 
of  the  29th  Oct.,  1759.     Tr. 


210  Rousseau's  confessions. 

"  Yersailles,  Thursday.* 

"  I  am  ravished — delighted  ;  your  letter  has  '  shut  me  up 
in  measureless  content/  and  I  hasten  to  acquaint  you  there- 
with and  return  you  thanks  therefor. 

"  Here  are  the  very  words  of  your  letter  :  '  Although  you 
are  certainly  a  very  good  customer  to  have,  I  have  some  scrujph 
about  taking  your  money  ;  by  rights  I  ought  to  pay  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  working  for  you.'  I  shall  say  nothing  more  on  that 
head  !  How  is  it  you  never  tell  me  of  the  state  of  your 
health  :  nothing  interests  me  more.  I  love  you  with  all  my 
heart ;  and  I  assure  you  I  am  in  a  sad  enough  mood  to  have 
to  write  you  this,  for  I  should  be  delighted  to  tell  it  you  my- 
self. M,  de  Luxembourg  sends  kindest  love  and  greet- 
ing." 

On  receiving  this  letter,  I  hastened  to  answer  it,  pro- 
testing against  any  unkindly  interpretation  of  my  words,  and 
reserving  it  meanwhile  for  a  fuller  and  more  careful  examina- 
tion. Well,  after  poring  over  it  for  several  days  with  a  dis- 
quietude that  may  readily  be  conceived,  I  could  make  noth- 
ing farther  out  of  it,  so  I  at  last  wrote  her  the  following  as 
my  final  thought  on  the  subject : 

"Montmorency,  December  8,  1*759. 

"Since  my  last,  I  have  examined  the  passage  in  question 
hundreds  and  hundreds  of  times  over.  I  have  considered  it 
in  its  proper  and  natural  meaning  ;  I  have  considered  it  un- 
der every  sense  that  can  be  given  it,  and  I  confess  to  you, 
Madam  la  Mardchale,  that  I  really  do  not  know  whether  it 
be  I  that  owe  you  excuse  or  you  that  owe  me." 

It  is  now  ten  years  since  these  letters  were  written  ;  I  have 
often  pondered  the  matter  since  then,  and  such  is  my  stupid- 
ity that,  to  this  day  even,  I  cannot  for  the  life  of  me  conceive 
what  she  could  have  found  in  the  passage  calculated,  I  shall 
not  say  to  offend,  but  even  to  displease  her. 

Talking  about  the  manuscrii)t  copy  of  the  Heloise  that 
Madam  de  Luxembourg  wished  to  have,  I  ought  here  to 
mention  a  plan  I  had  conceived  for  adding  some  special  value 
thereto,  unpossessed  by  all  others.  I  had  written  the  adven- 
tures of  Lord  Edward  separately,  and  I  had  long  dehberated 

*  File  C,  No.  43. 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  X.       1759.  2*11 

whether  I  would  insert  them,  either  in  whole  or  in  part,  in 
the  body  of  the  work,  wherever  they  might  seemi  to  me  to 
be  wanting.  Finally,  however,  I  determined  to  leave  them 
out  altogether  as  they  were  not  in  harmony  with  the  spirit  of 
the  rest,  and  would  have  spoiled  the  touching  simplicity  of 
the  whole  picture.  On  coming  to  know  Madam  de  Luxem- 
bourg, I  had  a  still  more  powerful  reason  for  doing  so. 
There  was  a  Roman  Marchioness  of  most  hateful  character 
that  figured  in  these  adventures :  now  there  were  certain 
traits  of  this  personage  which,  though  not  applicable  to  the 
Marchioness,  might  still  he  applied  to  her  by  persons  who 
only  knew  her  by  reputation.  Accordingly,  I  highly  fehci- 
tated  myself  on  the  course  I  had  pursued,  and  I  strength- 
ened myself  in  my  resolve.  But,  in  my  ardent  desire  to  en- 
rich her  copy  with  something  that  was  in  no  other,  what 
should  I  light  on  but  these  self-same  ill-starred  adventures  ; 
and  didn't  I  go  and  get  the  idea  into  my  head  of  mserting 
these  in  her  copy  ! — a  mad  project,  the  extravagance  whereof 
is  only  explicable  as  being  the  work  of  that  blind  fatality 
which  was  hurrying  me  on  to  my  destruction. 

Quos  vult  perdere  Jupiter,  dementat. 

I  had  the  stupidity  to  copy  this  out  with  the  utmost 
pains  and  great  labor  and  to  send  it  to  her  as  the  finest 
thmg  in  the  world  ;  informing  her  at  the  same  time — as  was 
true — that  I  had  burnt  the  original,  that  this  extract  was 
for  her  alone,  and  would  never  be  seen  by  any  one,  unless 
she  showed  it  herself :  a  course,  by  the  way,  which,  instead 
of  proving  to  her  my  prudence  and  discretion,  as  I  had 
imagined  it  would,  simply  gave  her  an  intimation  that  I  had 
myself  been  thinking  over  the  possible  application  that  might 
be  made  of  the  story.  Such  was  my  imbecility  that  I  had 
not  the  least  doubt  but  that  she  would  be  delighted  with  the 
course  I  had  pursued.  She  did  not  pay  me  the  compliments 
I  had  expected,  and,  to  my  great  surprise  never  once  men- 
tioned the  document  I  had  sent  her.  For  my  own  part, 
still  charmed  with  my  conduct  in  the  affair,  it  was  not  till 
long  afterwards  that  I  began,  from  certain  other  indications, 
to  surmise  what  effect  it  must  have  produced. 

In  order  to  enhance  the  value  of  her  manuscript  I  con- 
ceived another  idea  that  was  more  rational,  but  which,  though 
its  effects  were  more  distant,  has  proved  just  about  as  prcju- 


272  Rousseau's  confessions. 

dicial  to  me :  so  does  every  thing  work  togetner  with  fate 
for  the  o'erwhelming  of  a  man  doomed  to  misfortune.  I 
thought  of  oruameutiug  the  manuscript  with  the  engravings 
of  the  Heloise,  as  the  plates  happened  to  be  of  the  same  size 
as  the  manuscript.  I  asked  these  designs  of  Couidet  :  they 
belonged  to  me  by  every  sort  of  right,  and  the  more  so  as  I 
had  given  him  the  profits  of  the  plates,  which  had  had  a 
very  large  sale.  Comdet  is  as  cute  as  I  am  dull.  My  fre- 
quent inquiries  after  the  plates  awoke  his  curiosity  to  find 
out  what  I  was  going  to  do  with  them,  and  he  at  last  suc- 
ceeded. Whereupon,  under  pretence  of  adding  some  new 
ornaments  to  the  designs,  he  kept  them  from  me,  and  at  last 
presented  them  hhnself. 

Ego  versiculos  feci,  tulit  alter  honores. 

This  paved  the  way  to  an  introduction  to  the  Hotel  de 
Luxembourg  upon  a  certain  footing.  After  my  estabUshment 
at  the  '  Little'  Chateau,'  he  came  very  often  to  see  me,  and 
always  early  in  the  morning,  especially  when  M.  and  Madam 
de  Luxembourg  were  at  Montmorency.  The  result  was  that, 
to  pass  the  day  with  him,  I  did  not  go  to  the  chateau.  They 
reproached  me  with  these  absences,  so  I  told  them  the  rea- 
son, whereupon  they  pressed  me  to  bring  M.  Coindet  along 
with  me.  This  was  precisely  what  the  rogue  wanted.  Thus, 
thanks  to  the  excessive  kindness  they  felt  towards  me,  a 
clerk  of  M.  Thelusson's,  who  felt  honored  if  his  master  now 
and  then  invited  him  to  dinner  when  he  had  nobody  else, 
found  himself  all  of  a  sudden  admitted  to  dine  with  a  Marshal 
of  France,  in  the  company  of  princes  and  duchesses,  and  the  very 
elite  of  the  court.  I  shall  never  forget  one  day  when  he  (  Coin- 
det) was  obhged  to  retm'u  to  Paris  early,  the  Marshal  said,  after 
diuner,  tothe  company:  'let  us  go  and  take  a  walk  on  the  Saint 
Denis  road  ;  we  will  keep  M.  Coindet  company.'  This  was 
too  much  for  the  poor  man  ;  his  head  could  not  stand  it. 
For  my  own  part,  my  heart  was  so  full  that  I  could  not  utter 
a  single  word.  I  followed  behind,  weeping  Uke  a  child,  and 
longing  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  to  kiss  the  steps  of  that 
most  kindest  of  Marshals.  But  the  narration  of  the  history 
of  this  manuscript  has  made  me  anticipate  a  little.  Let  us 
resume  the  order  of  events,  so  far  at  least  as  my  memory 
will  permit. 

As  soon  as  my  little  Mont-Louis  house  was  ready,  I  had  it 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  X.       1*169.  273 

neatly  and  plainly  furnished,  and  went  back  to  live  in  it,  for 
I  was  determined  not  to  swerve  from  a  rule  I  had  laid  down 
on  leaving  the  Hermitage,  namely,  never  to  be  indebted  to 
anybody  but  myself  for  my  dwelling-place.  But  neither 
could  I  bring  myself  to  give  up  my  apartments  in  the  'Little 
Chateau.'  I  kept  the  key  of  it  ;  and  as  I  had  grown 
exceedmg  fond  of  taking  breakfast  in  the  peristyle,  I  often 
went  there  to  sleep,  and  would  pass  two  or  three  days  as  in 
a  country-house.  I  was  at  this  tune  perhaps  the  best  and 
most  agreeably  lodged  private  person  in  Europe.  My  host, 
M.  Mathas,  was  a  most  excellent  man,  and  had  given  the 
entire  direction  of  the  repau's  at  Mont-Louis  into  my  hands  ; 
he  insisted  on  my  doing  what  I  hked  with  his  workmen,  with- 
out his  interfering  in  the  least.  Accordingly,  I  found  means 
of  making  out  of  the  single  chamber  that  composed  the  first 
story  a  complete  suit  of  rooms,  consisting  of  a  chamber, 
anti-chamber  and  a  water-closet.  On  the  ground-floor  was 
the  kitchen  and  Therese's  room.  The  tower,  in  which  they 
had  put  up  a  glazed  partition  and  a  good  chimney,  served  for 
my  study.  After  my  return,  I  amused  myself  decorating  the 
terrace.  It  was  -shaded  by  two  rows  of  hnden  trees  ;  I 
added  two  others  so  as  to  make  a  summer-house  of  it,  fur- 
nishmg  it  with  a  table  and  stone  benches.  This  I  surround- 
ed by  lilacs,  mock-orange  and  woodbmes  ;  I  planted  a  beau- 
tiful border  of  flowers  parallel  with  the  two  rows  of  trees  ; 
and  this  terrace,  which  rose  to  a  greater  elevation  than  that 
on  which  the  chateau  was  built,  from  which  at  least  quite  as  a 
fine  view  was  to  be  had,  and  where  I  had  tamed  multitudes 
of  birds,  stood  me  instead  of  a  drawing-room.  Here  I  re- 
ceived M.  and  Mme.  de  Luxembourg,  M.  le  Due  de  Yilleroy, 
M.  le  Prince  de  Tiugry,  M.  le  Marquis  d'Armentiers,  Madam 
la  Duchesse  de  Montmorency,  Madam  la  Duchesse  de  Bouf- 
flers,  Madam  la  Comtesse  de  Valentinois,  Madam  la  Comtesse 
de  Bouffers,  and  others  of  like  rank,  who  did  not  disdam  to 
come  from  the  chateau  over  a  quite  fatiguing  ascent  and 
make  a  pilgrimage  to  Mont-Louis.  For  all  these  visits  I  was 
indebted  to  the  favor  of  M.  and  Mme.  de  Luxembourg  ;  this 
I  felt,  and  my  heart  returned  them  full  measures  of  gratitude 
and  homage.  It  was  in  one  of  these  transports  of  "soft,  sad 
feeling  that  I  once  said  to  M.  Luxembourg,  embracing  him : 
"  Ah  !  Monsieur  le  Marechal,  I  hated  the  great  before  I 
II.  12* 


2T4  Rousseau's  confessions. 

knew  you,  and  I  hate  them  still  more  since  you  have  taught 
me  how  easy  it  would  be  for  them  to  make  themselves  univer- 
sally adored." 

This  aside,  I  challenge  any  one  that  knew  me  during  this 
period  to  say  whether  he  ever  saw  me  for  a  moment  dazzled 
by  this  splendor,  or  whether  my  head  was  ever  aflPected  by 
this  incense.  Seemed  I  to  grow  a  whit  less  plain  in  my 
di'ess,  less  simple  in  my  manners,  less  good-fellow  with  the 
common  people,  less  familiar  with  my  neighbors,  less  ready 
to  render  service  to  everybody  when  it  was  in  my  power,  and 
that  without  being  put  out  by  the  numberless  and  oft  times  un- 
reasonable importunities  wherewith  I  was  incessantly  assail- 
ed ?  If  my  heart  led  me  to  the  chateau  de  Montmorency 
from  my  sincere  attachment  for  its  inmates,  it  brought  me 
back  withal  to  my  own  neighborhood  there  to  taste  the 
sweet  dehghts  of  that  calm  and  simple  life,  out  of  which 
there  is  no  happiness  for  me.  Therese  had  formed  a  friend- 
ship with  the  daughter  of  a  mason  named  Pilleu,  a  neighbor 
of  ours.  I  did  the  same  with  the  father  ;  and  after  having 
dined  at  the  chateau,  not  without  considerable  constraint  on 
my  part,  so  as  to  please  the  Marchioness,  how  eagerly  would 
I  return  in  the  evening  to  sup  with  the  worthy  Pilleu  and 
his  family,  either  at  his  house  or  my  own. 

Besides  my  two  habitations,  I  had  ere  long  a  third  in 
the  Hotel  de  Luxembourg.  M.  and  Mme.  de  Luxembourg 
pressed  me  so  strongly  to  go  and  see  them  there  that  I  con-  , 
sented,  notwithstanding  my  aversion  for  Paris,  whether  I  )^ 
had  been  but  twice  since  my  retirement  to  the  Hermitage, 
on  occasions  before-mentioned.  As  it  was,  however,  I 
never  went  except  on  days  agreed  upon,  and  then  solely  to 
take  supper,  returning  next  morning.  I  was  wont  to  enter 
and  come  out  by  the  garden  facing  the  Boulevard,  so  that  I 
could  say  with  literal  truth,  that  I  had  not  set  foot  in  the 
streets  of  Paris. 

In  the  midst  of  this  transient  prosperity,  the  storm  was 
brewing  that  was  to  o'ercloud  my  heaven.  Shortly  after 
my  return  to  Mont  Louis,  I  made,  greatly  against  my  will 
as  usual,  a  new  acquaintance  that,  too,  marks  an  era  in  my 
history.  Whether  for  good  or  for  ill  the  future  will  tell. 
The  person  referred  to  was  Madam  la  Marquise  de  Yerde- 
lin,  a  neighbor  of  mine,  whose  husband  had  recently  bought 


PERIOD  II.    BOOK  X.      1159.  215 

a  country-house  at  Soisy,  near  Montmorency.  IMlle. 
d'Ars,  daugliter  of  Count  d'Ars,  a  man  of  rank,  though  in 
reduced  circumstances,  had  married  M.  de  Verdelin,  an  old, 
ugly,  deaf,  crabbed,  brutal,  jealous  fellow,  with  gashes  in 
his  face  and  blind  of  one  eye  ;  though,  after  all,  not  a  bad 
chap  when  taken  in  the  right  way,  and  in  possession  of  an 
income  of  from  fifteen  to  twenty  thousand  francs  a  year  : 
(the  last  item,  I  suppose  was  the  main  inducement  to  the 
marriage.)  This  charming  object,  whose  chief  occupation 
during  the  day  was  swearing,  roaring,  scolding,  storm- 
ing and  keeping  his  wife  eternally  drowned  in  tears, 
generally  ended  by  doing  whatever  she  wanted,  and  this  to 
set  her  in  a  rage,  seeing  that  she  had  the  nack  of  persuad- 
ing him  that  it  was  he  that  wanted  things  so  and  so,  and  she 
that  did  not.  M.  de  Margency,  of  whom  I  have  often 
before  spoken,  was  a  friend  of  Madam's  and  became  so  of 
Monsieur.  He  had,  several  years  ago,  let  them  his  chateau 
of  Margency,  near  Eaubonne  and  Andilly,  and  they  were 
living  there  precisely  at  the  time  of  my  passion  for  Madam 
d'Houdetot.  Madam  d'Houdetot  and  Madam  de  Yerdelin 
made  the  acquaintance  of  each  other  through  Madam 
d'Aubeterre,  their  common  friend  ;  and  as  the  garden  of 
Margency  was  on  Madam  d'Houdetot's  way  to  '  Mount 
Olympus,'  her  favourite  walk,  Madam  de  Verdelin  gave 
her  a  key  so  that  she  might  go  right  through.  Under  favor 
of  this  key,  I  often  passed  through  with  her.  However, 
as  I  did  not  fancy  unexpected  meetings  ;  when  Madam  de 
Yerdelin  chanced  to  cross  our  path,  I  left  them  together, 
without  saying  anything  to  her,  and  went  on  ahead.  This 
not  over  gallant  course  could  not  have  given  her  a  very 
favorable  impression  of  me.  And  yet,  when  she  removed 
to  Soisy,  she  did  not  fail  to  seek  my  acquaintance.  She 
came  to  see  me  several  times  at  Mont-Louis  without  find- 
ing me  ;  and  seeing  I  did  not  return  her  visits,  she  be- 
thought her  of  sending  me  pots  of  flowers  for  my  terrace 
as  a  means  of  forcing  me  to  do  so.  I  had  to  go  and  thank 
her  ;  this  was  enough, — there  we  were  fast  acquainted. 

This  connection,  like  all  1  am  led  into  contrary  to  my 
inclination,  began  stormily.  Indeed  there  never  reigned  a 
true  calm  during  all  our  converse.  Madam  de  Yerdelin's 
turn  of  mind  was  so  antagonistic  to  mine.     She  showered 


276  Rousseau's  confessions. 

sarcasms  and  epigrams  from  her  lips  with  so  much  simpli- 
city, so  much  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  attention  has  to 
be  all  the  time  on  the  stretch  to  catch  when  she  is  fooling 
you,  quite  too  fatiguing  a  task  for  me.  A  piece  of  fol-de- 
rol  that  occurs  to  my  mind  may  give  the  reader  a  specimen 
of  what  I  mean.  Her  brother  had  just  obtained  the  com- 
mand of  a  frigate  appointed  to  cruise  against  the  English. 
I  was  speaking  of  the  mode  of  arming  this  frigate  without 
taking  from  its  lightness  and  speed.  "  Yes,"  said  she  in  a 
cool  tone,  "  they  only  take  what  cannon  they  need  to  fight 
with."  I  scarce  ever  heard  her  speak  well  of  any  of  her 
absent  friends,  without  letting  slip  something  or  other  to 
their  prejudice.  What  she  did  not  view  from  a  bad  side, 
she  did  from  the  ridiculous  side,  and  her  friend  Margency 
himself  was  no  exception  to  the  rule.  But  the  most  in- 
sufferable thing  in  being  acquainted  with  her  was  her  eternal 
little  messages,  little  presents,  little  billets,  which  I  had  to 
cudgel  my  brains  to  answer,  with  the  constantly  recurring 
embarrassment  of  either  returning  thanks  or  refusing. 
However,  what  by  seeing  her  over  and  over  again,  I  really 
did  at  last  become  attached  to  her.  She  had  her  own 
griefs  as  well  as  myself.  Mutual  confidence  rendered  our 
tete-ii-tetes  interesting.  Naught  so  unites  hearts  as  the 
sweet  satisfaction  of  weeping  together.  We  sought  each 
other  as  a  mutual  consolation, — and  the  longing  for  sympathy 
has  often  made  me  pass  over  many  a  fault.  I  had  been  so 
severe  in  my  frankness  with  her,  that  after  having  at  times 
shown  so  very  little  esteem  for  her  character,  there  must 
really  have  been  a  good  deal  to  be  able  to  believe  she  could 
heartily  forgive  me.  Here  is  a  specimen  of  the  letters  I 
used  now  and  then  to  write  her,  and  it  is  note-worthy  that 
in  none  of  her  answers  did  she  ever  seem  the  least  piqued 
thereat  : 

"Montmorency,  Nov.  5,  1760. 
"  You  tell  me.  Madam,  you  have  not  explained  yourself 
well,  in  order  to  make  me  feel  I  have  explained  myself  ill. 
You  speak  of  your  pretended  stupidity  to  bring  home  to  me 
mine.  You  boast  of  being  but  a  'worthy  creature,'  as  if 
there  were  any  danger  of  your  being  taken  at  your  word, 
and  you  apologize  to  me  as  a  reminder  that  I  ought  to 
apologize  to  you.    Yes,  Madam.  I  know  it ;  'tis  I  that  am  the 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  X.      1759.  271 

fool,  the '  worthy  creature' — and  worse  still,  if  worse  there  be: 
'tis  I  that  use  bungling  phrases,  shocking  the  ears  of  a  fine 
French  lady  who  pays  as  much  attention  to  her  words,  and 
who  speaks  as  well  as  yourself.  But  consider  that  I  use  words 
in  their  ordinary  acceptation,  without  either  knowing  or  car- 
ing about  the  polite  meanings  given  them  in  the  virtuous 
societies  of  Paris.  If  my  expressions  are  at  times  ambigu- 
ous, I  endeavor  to  make  my  conduct  iuterpre  them,  etc." 
The  rest  of  the  letter  is  much  iu  the  same  strain,  (see  the 
answer  to  it,  File  D,  No.  41,  and  judge  of  the  incredible 
moderation  of  a  woman's  heart,  that  could  bring  herself  to 
feel  no  more  resentment  at  such  a  letter  than  her  answer 
exhibits — and  she  never  manifested  any  more.) 

Coindet,  the  enterprising  fellow,  bold  to  very  efi'rontery, 
and  always  on  the  scent  after  my  friends,  soon  introduced 
himself  to  Madam  de  Verdeliu  in  my  name,  and  unknown 
to  me,  ere  long  became  more  familiar  there  than  myself. 
A  queer  chap  was  that  same  Coindet.  He  presented  him- 
self in  the  houses  of  all  my  acquaintances  in  my  name, 
gained  a  footing  therein,  and  most  unceremoniously  dined, 
and  so  on,  with  them.  Transported  with  zeal  iu  my  ser- 
vice, he  could  never  mention  my  name  without  tears  :  when 
he  came  to  see  me,  though,  he  kept  the  profoundest  silence 
touching  all  these  connections,  and  the  various  matters  he 
knew  must  interest  me.  In  place  of  telling  me  what  he 
had  learned,  or  said,  or  seen  that  concerned  me,  he  would 
hear  what  I  had  to  say,  nay,  question  me.  He  never  knew 
aught  of  matters  in  Paris  beyond  what  I  told  him ;  in  fine, 
though  everybody  spoke  to  me  of  him,  he  never  spoke  to 
me  of  anybody  :  he  was  secret  and  mysterious  with  none 
but  his  friend.  But,  let  us  leave  Coindet  and  Madam 
de  Yerdelin  for  the  present ;  we'll  return  to  them  by-and-by. 

Some  time  after  my  return  to  Mont-Louis,  La  Tour,  the 
painter,  came  to  see  me,  and  brought  with  him  my  portrait 
in  pastel,  which  he  had  sent  to  the  exhibition,  several  years 
before.  He  had  wished  to  present  me  with  this  portrait, 
but  I  had  not  accepted  it.  Madam  d'Epinay,  however, 
who  had  given  me  hers,  and  wished  to  get  this  one  of  me, 
had  prevailed  on  me  to  ask  it  of  him.  He  had  taken  time 
to  retouch  it.  Meanwhile,  came  my  rupture  with  Madam 
d'Epinay  ;  I  gave  her  back  her  portrait,  and  mine  being  no 


278  Rousseau's  confessions. 

longer  wanted,  I  hung  it  up  in  my  room  in  the  '  Little 
Chateau.'  Here  M.  de  Luxembourg  saw,  and  liked  it. 
I  offered  it  to  him  ;  he  accepted  it,  and  I  sent  it  to  him. 
Both  he  and  the  Marchioness  knew  that  I  would  like  very 
much  to  have  theirs  ;  so  they  had  miniatures  taken  by  a 
very  skillful  hand,  and  had  them  set  in  a  box  of  rock  crys- 
tal, mounted  with  gold,  and  made  me  the  present  in  a  very 
handsome  manner.  I  was  quite  enchanted  with  it.  Madam 
de  Luxembourg  would  never  consent  to  let  her  portrait  be 
set  in  the  upper  part  of  the  box.  She  had  at  various 
times  reproached  me  with  loving  M.  de  Luxembourg  better 
than  her ;  and  I  had  not  denied  the  charge,  seeing  such 
was  really  the  case.  So  she  took  this  very  polite  but  very 
clear  way  of  showing  me,  by  the  fashion  of  setting  her  por- 
trait, that  she  had  not  forgotten  this  preference. 

Just  about  this  same  time,  I  was  guilty  of  a  blunder  that 
did  not  contribute  to  preserve  me  her  good  graces.  Though 
I  did  not  know  M.  de  Silhouette  at  all,  and  felt  but  little  drawn 
to  love  him,  yet  I  had  a  great  opinion  of  his  administrative 
power.  When  he  began  to  come  down  on  the  financiers,  1 
saw  that  he  was  not  commencing  at  the  best  time  ;  how- 
ever, he  had  my  warmest  wishes  for  his  success  ;  and  when  I 
learned  he  was  turned  out  of  office,  I  with  my  usual  procUvity 
to  get  into  scrapes,  wrote  him  the  following  letter,  I  as- 
suredly do  not  undertake  to  justify  it : 

"Montmorency  Dec.  2,  1*759. 

"Deign,  sir,  to  receive  the  homage  of  a  man  far  removed 
from  the  bustle  of  affairs,  who  is  unknown  to  you,  but  who 
esteems  you  for  your  talents,  respects  your  administration 
and  who  did  you  the  honor  to  beUeve  you  would  not  be  long 
in  office.  Unable  to  save  the  State  but  at  the  expense  of 
the  capital  which  has  been  the  ruin  of  it,  you  have  braved 
the  clamors  of  the  crew  of  speculators.  When  I  saw  you 
crushing  these  wretches,  I  envied  you  your  place  ;  now  that 
I  see  you  leave  it,  unswerved  from  your  principles,  I  admire 
you.  Rest  satisfied  with  yourself,  sir  ;  the  step  you  have 
taken  does  you  an  honor  you  will  long  enjoy,  and  enjoy  with- 
out a  competitor.  The  maledictions  of  knaves  are  the  glory 
of  the  honest  man." 

en 60.)     Madam  de  Luxembourg,  who  learned  I  had 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  X.       1*160.  2t9 

written  such  a  letter,  spoke  to  me  of  it  when  she  came  into 
the  country  at  Easter.  I  showed  it  to  her  ;  she  expressed 
a  desire  to  have  a  copy,  so  I  gave  her  one ;  but  I  did  not 
know,  when  I  gave  it  her,  that  she  was  herself  one  of  those 
same  '  speculators '  that  were  interested  in  under-farms,  and 
who  had  procured  Silhouette's  dismissal.  It  really  seemed, 
from  my  multiplied  blunders,  as  though  I  had  been  desirous 
of  purposely  exciting  the  hatred  of  an  amiable  and  powerful 
woman,  to  whom,  in  truth  I  became  daily  more  and  more 
attached  and  whose  displeasure  I  was  the  farthest  in  the 
world  from  wishing  to  draw  down  on  me,  albeit,  by  my  blun- 
ders, I  did  everything  calculated  to  do  so.  I  suppose  it 
superfluous  to  mention  that  she  was  the  heroine  of  the  Tron- 
chiu  opiate  story,  whereof  I  have  spoken  in  Part  First ;  the 
other  lady  was  'Madam  de  Mirepoix.  Neither  of  them  ever 
after  mentioned  the  matter,  nor,  mdeed,  did  they  seem  to  have 
preserved  the  faintest  remembrance  thereof :  but  to  presume 
that  Madam  de  Luxembourg  could  really  have  forgotten  it 
seems  to  me  rather  difficult,  even  were  subsequent  events 
wholly  unknown.  For  my  own  part,  I  fell  hito  a  deceitful 
security  touching  the  effect  of  my  stupidities,  seeing  that  my 
conscience  bore  me  witness  that  none  of  them  had  been  com- 
mitted with  any  intention  of  offending  her  :  as  though  a 
woman  ever  could  pardon  such  as  I  had  been  guilty  of,  even 
with  the  most  perfect  certitude  that  will  had  nothing  what- 
ever to  do  in  the  matter. 

And  yet,  although  she  seemed  to  see,  to  feel  nothing,  and 
though  I  as  yet  found  neither  diminution  in  the  warmth  of 
her  friendship  nor  change  in  her  manners,  the  continuation, 
ay,  and  increase,  too,  of  an  all  too  well  founded  foreboding, 
made  me  incessantly  tremble  lest  ennui  should  succeed  this 
excess  of  interest.  Could  I  expect  of  so  great  a  lady  a  con- 
stancy proof  against  my  want  of  address  to  sustain  it  ?  1 
was  even  unable  to  conceal  from  her  this  secret  foreboding 
that  disquieted  me,  and  which  had  but  the  effect  to  render 
me  more  gruff  and  disagreealjle  than  ever.  Of  this  an  idea 
may  be  caught  from  the  following  letter,  which,  by  the  way, 
contains  a  very  singular  prediction. 
N.  B.     This  letter,  the  date   of  which  is  wanting  in    my 

rough  draught,  was  written  in  the  mouth  of  October 

1760,  at  the  latest. 


280  Rousseau's  confessions. 

"  How  cruel  is  your  kindness !  Why  disturb  the  peace 
of  a  lonely  man  who  has  renounced  tlie  pleasures  of  life  so 
as  to  escape  the  ennuis  thereof?  I  have  passed  my  life  in 
the  vain  search  after  solid  attachments.  These  have 
baulked  me  while  confining  my  search  to  my  peers  :  is  it 
amid  your  rank  I  should  now  seek  ?  Neither  ambition 
nor  interest  can  tempt  me  ;  I  have  but  little  vanity,  lots  of 
courage  and  can  withstand  any  thing  saving  kindness. 
Why  do  you  both  attack  me  in  this  my  weak  spot,  and 
which  I  must  overcome  ;  seeing  that,  in  the  distance  that 
separates  us,  the  outgushings  of  loving  souls  can  have  no 
power  to  raise  my  heart  to  the  sphere  you  inhabit.  Will 
gratitude  suffice  a  heart  that  owns  but  one  mode  of  mani- 
festation, and  feels  only  capable  of  friendship  ?  Of  friend- 
ship. Madam  la  Marechale  1  Ay,  there's  the  rub  !  It  is  all 
very  well  for  you,  all  very  well  for  M.  le  Marechal  to  talk  of 
friendship,  but  I  am  mad  to  take  you  at  your  word.  You 
play  yourself  while  my  heart  grows  attached,  and  the  end  of 
the  play  prepares  new  griefs  for  me.  How  do  I  hate  all  your 
titles,  and  how  I  pity  you  for  having  to  bear  them  I  Why 
live  you  not  at  Clarens  ?  Thither  would  I  go  and  seek 
my  life's  happiness  :  but  the  Chateau  de  Montmorency,  but 
the  Hotel  de  Luxembourg  1  Is  it  in  such-like  places  Jean 
Jacques  should  be  seen  ?  Is  it  there  the  friend  of  Equality 
should  place  the  afiTections  of  a  tender  heart  which,  thus 
paying  back  the  esteem  manifested  towards  it,  imagines  it 
returns  as  much  as  it  receives  ?  You  are  kind — tenderly 
kind  ;  I  know  and  have  seen  it, — I  am  sorry  I  was  not 
sooner  convinced  of  it ;  but  in  the  rank  you  hold,  in  your 
way  of  living,  naught  can  produce  an  enduring  impression, 
and  so  many  new  objects  are  so  continually  rising  to  efface 
each  other  that  none  is  lasting.  You  will  forget  me.  Ma- 
dam, after  having  made  it  impossible  for  me  to  forget  you. 
You  will  have  done  much  to  render  me  unhappy — much  to 
be  inexcusable." 

I  brought  in  M.  de  Luxembourg  so  as  to  render  the 
compliment  less  harsh  ;  for,  this  apart,  my  reliance  on  him 
was  so  entire,  that  the  shadow  of  a  fear  as  to  the  duration 
of  his  friendship,  had  never  entered  my  head.  I  never  for  a 
moment  feared  respecting  him  aught  that  intimidated  me 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  X.       1760.  281 

on  the  part  of  Madam  la  Marechale.  I  never  felt  the 
smallest  mistrust  as  to  his  character  :  it  was  weak,  I  knew, 
but  still  reliable.  I  as  little  feared  any  coldness  on  his 
part  as  I  expected  a  heroic  attachment  from  him.  The 
simplicity,  the  familiarity  of  our  manners  with  each  other, 
manifested  how  absolute  was  our  mutual  confidence  and 
reliance.  And  we  were  right  :  I  shall  honor  and  hold 
dear  while  life  lasts  the  memory  of  this  worthy  lord  ;  and 
how  great  soever  may  have  been  the  efforts  to  detach  him 
from  me,  I  am  as  certain  he  died  my  friend  as  though  he 
had  breathed  his  last  sigh  in  my  arms. 

The  reading  of  the  Heloise  ioeing  got  through  with  dur- 
ing the  second  visit  to  Montmorency  in  the  year  1T60,  I 
had  recourse  to  the  Emile  to  keep  me  in  Madam  de  Lux- 
embourg's good  graces  :  but  it  was  not  as  successful  as  the 
other,  whether  the  matter  was  less  to  her  taste,  or  that 
she  got  tired  of  so  much  reading.  However,  as  she  re- 
proached me  with  allowing  myself  to  be  the  dupe  of  book- 
sellers, she  wished  me  to  let  her  see  after  having  it  printed, 
so  as  to  make  the  most  of  it.  To  this  I  consented,  on  con- 
dition of  its  not  being  prnited  in  France  ;  and  on  this  head 
we  had  a  long  dispute,  I  affirming  that  it  would  be  impos- 
sible to  obtain,  and  imprudent  even  to  solicit  a  tacit  per- 
mission, and  not  being  minded  to  permit  the  impression  in 
the  kingdom  on  any  other  terms  ;  she  sustaining  that  there 
would  not  be  the  slightest  difficulty  in  the  case  of  the  Cen- 
sor, in  the  system  government  had  adopted.  She  managed 
to  bring  M.  de  Malesherbes  into  her  view,  who  wrote  me 
a  long  letter  on  the  subject  in  his  own  hand,  proving  the 
'Savoyard  Vicar's  Profession  of  Faith'  was  just  the  piece 
to  receive  the  universal  approbation  of  mankind,  and  of 
the  court,  too,  under  the  circumstances.  I  was  surprised 
to  see  this  magistrate,  usually  so  timorous,  become  so  free 
and  easy  in  this  matter.  As  the  printing  of  a  book  that 
met  with  liis  approval  was  from  that  very  fact  legal,  1  of 
course  had  no  further  objection  to  make  to  bringing  out 
the  work.  And  yet  by  an  extraordinary  scruple,  1  still 
persisted  that  the  work  should  be  printed  in  Holland,  and 
by  the  publisher  Keaulme,  too,  whom,  not  satisfied  with 
indicating,  I  informed  of  my  wishes  ;  for  the  rest,  consent- 
ing   that    the    edition   should    be    brought  out   for   the 


282  Rousseau's  confessions, 

benefit  of  a  French  publisher,  and  that,  when  ready,  it 
should  be  sold  in  Paris,  or  wherever  they  liked,  seeing  I 
had  no  concern  in  the  matter.  This  is  exactly  what  was 
agreed  upon  between  Madam  de  Luxembourg  and  myself ; 
after  which  I  gave  my  manuscript  into  her  hands. 

This  visit,  she  had  brought  with  her  her  grand- 
daughter, Mile,  de  Boufflers,  now  the  Duchesse  de  Lauzun. 
Her  name  was  Amelia,  and  a  charming  girl  she  was.  8he 
had  a  mildness  and  timidity  truly  virgin.  Nothing  could 
be  more  lovely  and  more  interesting  than  her  face,  nothing 
more  tender  and  more  chaste  than  the  sentiments  she  in- 
spired. Besides,  she  was  a  mere  child,  not  being  eleven 
years  old.  The  Marchioness,  thinking  her  too  timid,  was 
endeavoring  to  hearten  her  up.  Several  times  she  per- 
mitted me  to  give  her  a  kiss,  which  I  did  with  my  wonted 
awkwardness.  In  place  of  the  pretty  speeches  anybody 
else  would  have  made  in  my  place,  there  I  stood  mute  and 
abashed,  and  I  know  not  which  of  us  was  the  most  asham- 
ed, the  little  lass  or  myself.  One  day  I  met  her  alone  on 
the  staircase  of  the  'Little  Chateau':  she  had  just  been 
up  to  see  Therese,  with  whom  her  governess  was  then 
staying.  Not  knowing  what  to  say,  I  proposed  a  kiss, 
which,  in  the  innocence  of  her  heart,  she  did  not  refuse, 
having  received  one  that  very  morning,  by  order  of,  and  in 
the  presence  of  her  grandma.  Next  day,  while  reading 
Emilc  by  Madam  de  Luxembourg's  bed-side,  what  did  I 
do  but  fall  on  a  passage  wherein  I  justly  censure  what  I 
had  done  myself  the  evening  before  1  She  thought  the 
reflection  extremely  correct,  and  made  some  very  sensible 
remarks  on  the  subject,  that  made  me  blush.  How  did  I 
curse  my  incredible  stupidity  that  has  so  often  made  me 
seem  guilty,  when  simply  silly  and  embarrassed  ! — a  stupid- 
ity which  certain  persons  have  even  gone  so  far  as  to  con- 
strue into  a  mere  make-believe  in  a  man  known  to  be  not 
absolutely  witless.  I  can  honestly  aver  that  in  this  so 
reprehensible  a  kiss,  as  also  in  the  others,  the  heart  and 
senses  of  Mile.  Amelia  were  not  purer  than  my  own  ;  nay, 
more,  had  it  been  in  my  power  at  the  moment  to  avoid 
meeting  her  I  should  have  done  so :  not  that  it  did  not 
give  me  great  pleasure  to  see  her,  but  from  the  embarrass- 
ment of  finding  something  agreeable  to  say  to  her  while 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  X.     1T60.  283 

passing.  Whence  comes  it  that  a  mere  child  can  intimi- 
date a  man,  whom  not  all  the  power  of  kings  has  been  able 
to  afright?  What  course  can  I  take?  What  am  I  to  do, 
utterly  destitute  as  I  am  of  all  ofif-handuess  of  thought? 
If  1  strive  to  say  something  to  persons  I  meet,  I  am  as 
certain  as  fate  to  let  fall  some  horrible  tongue-slip  ;  if  I 
say  nothing,  I  am  a  misanthrope,  a  wild  beast,  a  bear. 
Total  imbecility  I  could  have  got  along  with  a  great  deal 
better ;  but  the  taleuts  I  have  lacked  in  the  world  have 
been  the  ruin  of  me  and  the  ruin,  too,  of  the  talents  I  do 
possess. 

Towards  the  end  of  this  visit.  Madam  de  Luxembourg 
did  a  good  work,  in  which  I  had  some  share.  Diderot 
having  very  imprudently  offended  the  Princess  de  Robeck, 
daughter  of  M.  de  Luxembourg,  Palissot,  whom  she  had 
under  her  protection,  revenged  her  by  the  comedy  of  ^The 
Philosophers,^  in  which  I  was  ridiculed,  and  Diderot  very 
badly  abused.  The  author  treated  me  more  gently,  less,  I 
guess,  on  account  of  the  obligation  he  was  under  to  me, 
than  from  fear  of  offending  the  father  of  his  protectress, 
by  whom  he  knew  I  was  beloved.  Duchesne  the  publisher, 
with  whom  I  was  not  as  yet  acquainted,  sent  me  the  piece 
when  it  came  out.  This  I  suspect  he  did  by  order  of 
Palissot,  who  thought,  may  be,  I  would  find  pleasure  in 
seeing  a  man  with  whom  I  had  fallen  out  roughly  handled. 
He  was  very  much  mistaken.  Though  I  had  broken  with 
Diderot,  whom  after  all  I  thought  less  ill-natured  than 
weak  and  indiscret,  I  still  preserved  an  attachment,  nay, 
an  esteem  even  for  him,  and  still  retained  a  respect  for  our 
old  friendship — a  friendship  I  knew  to  have  been  long  as 
sincere  on  his  part  as  on  my  own.  Very  different  was  it 
with  Grimm,  a  man  of  innate  duplicity,  who  never  loved 
ine  and  has  not  it  in  him  to  love,  and  who,  without  the 
slightest  cause  given,  and  solely  to  satisfy  his  black  jea- 
lousy, damnably  gloated  in  calumniating  me  under  the 
mask  of  friendship.  He  is  naught  to  me  ;  the  other  will 
always  be  my  old  friend.  At  the  sight  of  the  odious  piece, 
the  old  sympathies  awoke  :  I  could  not  bear  the  reading 
of  it,  and  without  finishing  it  I  sent  it  back  to  Duchesne 
with  the  followin";  letter : 


284  Rousseau's  confessions. 

"Montmorency,  May  21,  1*160. 

"  Sir, — In  casting  my  eye  over  the  piece  you  sent  me,  I 
trembled  at  seeing  myself  lauded.  I  cannot  accept  your 
horrible  present.  I  feel  sure  that  you  did  not  intend  hurt- 
ing me  when  you  sent  it,  but  you  must  either  not  be  aware 
of  the  fact,  or  you  must  have  forgotten  it,  that  I  have  the 
honor  to  be  the  friend  of  a  respectable  man,  shamefully 
blackened  and  calumniated  in  this  libel." 

Duchesne  showed  the  letter.  Diderot,  on  whom  it 
might  well  have  produced  a  quite  other  effect,  was  vexed 
at  it.  His  self-love  could  not  forgive  me  the  superiority  of 
a  generous  action ,  and  I  learnt  that  his  wife  went  round 
inveighing  against  me  with  a  bitterness  I  cared  very  little 
about,  knowing  she  was  widely  celebrated  as  a  noisy  bab- 
bler. 

Diderot,  in  his  turn,  found  an  avenger  in  the  Abbe 
Morellet,  who  came  out  against  Palissot  in  a  little  thing  call- 
ed '  The  Vision,'  modeled  after  the  '  Petite  Prophete.'  In 
this  production  he  most  hnprudently  offended  Madam  de 
Robeck,  whose  friends  got  him  clapped  in  the  Bastile  ;  for, 
for  her  part,  I  am  persuaded  she  had  nothing  to  do  with  it, 
as  she  was  naturally  very  little  vkidictive,  and  was,  besides, 
at  the  time,  in  a  dying  state. 

D'Alembert,  who  was  a  very  intimate  friend  of  Morel- 
let's,  wrote  me,  asking  me  to  beg  Madam  de  Luxembourg  to 
solicit  his  liberation,  promising  her  in  retm'n  encomiums  in 
the  '  Eucyclopoedia.'*     Here  is  my  reply  : 

"  I  did  not  wait  the  receipt  of  youi'  letter,  sir,  to  express 
to  Madam  la  Marechale  de  Luxembourg  the  pain  the  im- 
prisonment of  the  Abbe  Morellet  gives  me.  She  knows  how 
keenly  I  feel  on  the  matter,  and  shall  be  made  acquainted 
with  the  interest  you  also  take  in  it  ;  and,  indeed,  it  will  be 
sufficient  to  interest  her  in  the  matter  to  know  that  he  is  a 
man  of  worth.  Over  and  above  this,  albeit  both  she  and  the 
Marshal  honor  me  with  a  friendship  that  is  the  consolation 
of  my  life,  and  though  your  friend's  name  be  to  them  a  re- 
commendation of  the  Abbe  Morellet,  still  I  know  not  how 
far  they  may,  on  this  occasion,  see  fit  to  employ  the  influence 

*  This  letter,  like  several  others,  disappeared  from  the  Hotel  de  Lux- 
embourg whilst  my  papers  were  deposited  there. 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  X.      1760,.  285 

attached  to  their  rank  and  to  the  consideration  due  their 
persons.  I  am  not  even  convinced  that  the  vengeance  in 
question  has  to  do  with  the  Princess  de  Robeck  as  much  as 
you  seem  to  imagine  ;  and,  even  were  this  the  case,  we  must 
not  expect  that  the  delight  of  vengeance  is  to  belong  ex- 
clusively to  philosophers,  or  suppose  that  when  philosophers 
choose  to  become  women,  women  are  going  to  become 
philosophers. 

"  I  wUl  communicate  to  you  whatever  Madam  de  Luxem- 
bourg may  say  to  me  after  reading  your  letter.  Meanwhile 
I  think  I  know  her  well  enough  to  assure  you  in  advance 
that,  should  it  be  her  pleasure  to  contribute  to  the  liberation 
of  the  Abbe  Morellet,  she  will  not  accept  the  tribute  of  gra- 
titude you  promise  her  in  the  '  Eucycloptedia,'  however  she 
might  feel  honored  thereby ;  seeing  that  she  does  not  do 
good  for  the  sake  of  the  praise  it  may  bring,  but  in  obedience 
to  the  dictates  of  her  kind  heart." 

I  spared  no  effort  to  excite  the  zeal  and  commiseration  of 
Madam  de  Luxembourg  in  favor  of  the  poor  captive,  and  I 
succeeded.  She  went  to  Versailles  expressly  to  see  M. 
le  Comte  de  Saint-Florentin  touching  the  matter  ;  and 
this  journey  abridged  the  visit  to  Montmorency,  which  the 
Marshal  was  obliged  to  quit  at  the  same  time  to  betake  him 
to  Rouen,  whither  the  king  sent  him  as  Governor  of  Nor- 
mandy, on  account  of  certain  movements  of  the  Parliament, 
which  Government  wished  to  keep  witliin  bounds.  The  day 
after  her  departure,  Madam  de  Luxembourg  wrote  me  the 
following  letter : 

"  Yersailles,  Thursday.* 

"  M.  de  Luxembourg  left  yesterday  at  six  in  the  morning. 
I  know  not  as  yet  whether  I  shall  go  or  not.  I  am  waiting 
for  word  from  him,  as  he  does  not  know  himself  how  long  he 
will  remain.  I  have  seen  M.  de  Saint-Florentin  ;  he  is  as 
kindly  disposed  as  can  be  towards  the  Abbe  Morellet,  though 
he  finds  obstacles  in  the  way.  These,  however,  he  hopes  to 
remove  the  next  tune  he  has  business  to  do  with  the  King, 
which  will  be  next  week.  I  have  also  desired  as  a  favor 
that  he  be  not  exiled,  as  was  proposed  :  he  was  to  be  sent 
to  Nanci.     Such,  sh*,  is  the  success  of  my  intercession  ;  but 

*  File  D,  No.  23. 


286  Rousseau's  confessions. 

I  promise  you  I'll  give  M.  de  Saint-FIorentin  no  peace  tiU 
the  affair  be  brought  to  the  termination  you  desire.  And  now 
let  me  say  how  grieved  I  am  to  have  to  be  obhged  to  leave  you 
so  soon ;  though  I  flatter  myself  you  entertain  no  doubt  thereof, 
Je  vous  aime  de  tout  vion  cctur,  et  pour  toute  ma  vie." 

A  few  days  afterwards,  I  received  this  note  from  d'Alem- 
bert,  and  most  heart-felt  was  the  joy  it  gave  me : 

"August  1st.* 
"  Thanks  to  your  care  and  kindness,  my  dear  philosopher, 
the  Abbe  has  parted  company  with  the  Bastille — in  fact,  has 
got  clear  altogether.  He  is  setting  out  for  the  country,  and 
returns  you,  as  do  I,  a  thousand  thanks  and  compliments. 
Vale  et  me  ama." 

The  Abbe,  too,  wrote  me  a  letter  of  thanks  a  few  days 
afterwards  (File  D,  No.  29)  that  did  not  appear  to  me  to  be 
really  heart-felt  and  wherein  he  seemed  endeavoring,  in  away, 
to  extenuate  the  service  I  had  doue  him  ;  and,  sometime 
after,  I  found  that  d'Alembert  and  he  had  supplanted  me  ia 
Madam  de  Luxembourg's  good  graces,  and  that  I  had  lost 
as  much  as  they  had  gained.  However,  I  am  very  far  from 
suspecting  the  Abbe  Morellet  of  having  contributed  to  my 
disgrace  ;  I  esteem  him  too  highly  for  that.  As  for  M 
d'Alembert,  I  shall  say  nothing  of  him  here,  but  shall  come 
back  to  him  hereafter. 

At  this  same  time  I  got  into  another  scrape  that  called 
forth  the  last  letter  I  wrote  Voltaire — a  letter  concerning 
which  he  croaked  and  clamored  as  an  abominable  insult,  but 
which  he  never  showed  anybody.  I  shall  here  supply  what 
he  would  not  do. 

The  Abbe  Trublet,  with  whom  I  was  slightly  acquainted, 
but  whom  I  had  very  seldom  seen,  wrote  me  on  the  13th 
of  June  neO  (File  D,  No.  11),  informing  me  that  M. 
Formey,  his  friend  and  correspondent,  had  printed  in  his 
journal  my  letter  to  M.  de  Yoltaire  on  the  disaster  at  Lisbon, 
The  Abbe  Trublet  wanted  to  know  how  it  could  have  come 
to  get  public,  and,  in  his  subtle,  Jesuitical  way,  asked  me 
my  advice  as  to  the  republication  of  the  letter,  meanwhile 
keeping  his  own  counsel  to  himslf.  As  I  have  a  sovereign 
hatred  of  the  whole  breed  of  dodgers,  I  returned  him  suit- 

*  File  D,  No.  26. 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  X.      1760,  287 

able  thanks  ;  but  there  was  a  reserve  in  my  reply  he  felt, 
though  this  did  not  prevent  him  from  wheedling  and  worm- 
ing away  till  he  got  all  he  wanted  out  of  me. 

I  knew  perfectly  vrell,  whatever  Trublet  might  say,  that 
Formey  bad  not  seen  the  letter  in  print,  and  that  the  first 
publicatioQ  of  it  came  from  himself.  I  knew  him  for  an 
impudent  pilferer,  who  unceremoniously  made  him  a  revenue 
out  of  the  works  of  others,  though  he  had  never  up  to  this 
time,  had  the  passing  effrontery  to  take  away  the  author's 
name  from  a  book  already  published,  clap  his  own  to  it, 
and  coolly  sell  it  for  his  own  benefit.*  But,  how  had  he  got 
hold  of  the  manuscript  ? — that  was  the  point,  a  point  in  no 
wise  difficult  of  explanation,  and  yet  which  I  had  the  sim- 
plicity to  be  embarrassed  with.  Though  Yoltaire  was 
honored  to  the  highest  degree  in  this  letter,  still,  as  not- 
withstanding the  uncivil  course  he  had  pursued,  he  would 
have  had  ground  for  complaint,  had  I  printed  it  without  his 
cousent,  I  resolved  on  writing  to  him  on  the  matter.  Here 
is  this  second  letter,  to  which  he  returned  no  reply,  and  at 
which  he  pretended  to  be  furiously  enraged  so  as  to  put 
the  better  face  on  his  brutality. 

"Montmorency,  June  17th,  1760. 

"  I  never  thought,  sir,  I  should  again  find  myself  in 
correspondence  with  you.  But  learning  that  the  letter 
I  wrote  you  in  1756  has  been  printed  in  Berlin,  I  owe  you 
an  account  of  my  conduct  in  the  matter,  and  this  duty  I 
will  perform  with  truth  and  simplicity. 

"The  letter  in  question,  being  really  addressed  to  you, 
was  not  intended  for  publication.  I  communicated  its  con- 
tents, on  certain  conditions,  to  three  persons,  whom  the 
rights  of  friendship  would  not  permit  me  to  refuse  anything 
of  the  kind,  and  whom  the  same  rights  still  less  permitted 
to  abuse  my  confidence  by  violating  their  promise.  These 
three  persons  are  :  Madam  de  Chenonceaux,  daughter-in- 
law  of  Madam  Dupin  ;  the  Countess  d'Houdetot,  and  a 
German,  named  M.  Grimm.  Madam  de  Chenonceaux  was 
anxious  the  letter  should  be  printed,  and  asked  my  consent. 
I  told  her  that  depended  on  you.  Your  permission  was 
asked  ;  you  refused  it,  so  there  the  matter  dropped. 

•  'Twas  thus  he  afterwards  appropriated  the  Emile. 


288  Rousseau's  confessions. 

"  And  yet  M.  I'Abbe  Trublet,  with  whom  I  have  no 
sort  of  connection,  has  just  written  me,  from  a  motive  of 
polite  attention,  that  having  received  the  sheets  of  a  journal 
edited  by  M.  Formey,  he  had  seen  that  same  letter  in  it, 
accompanied  by  a  note  wherein  the  editor  says  under  the 
date  of  the  23d  October,  1759,  that  he  had  found  it,  some 
weeks  previous,  in  the  book-stores  in  Berhn,  and  that,  as  it 
was  one  of  these  flying  sheets  that  soon  dissappear  beyond 
recovery,  he  had  thought  proper  to  give  it  a  place  in  his 
journal. 

"This,  sir,  is  all  I  know  of  the  matter.  Certain  it  is 
that  up  to  that  time  there  had  been  no  talk  of  the  letter  in 
Paris.  Equally  certain  is  it  that  the  copy,  whether  manu- 
script or  printed,  that  came  into  the  hands  of  M.  Formey, 
could  only  have  come  from  you,  which  is  not  likely,  or  from 
one  of  the  three  persons  before-mentioned.  But,  it  is  well 
known  that  the  two  ladies  are  incapable  of  any  such 
perfidy.  More  than  this  I  cannot  come  at  in  my  retirement. 
You  have  correspondents  by  means  of  whom  it  would  be 
easy  for  you,  if  you  think  it  worth  while,  to  get  back  to  the 
root  of  the  matter  and  come  at  the  true  facts  of  the 
case. 

"  In  the  same  letter,  M.  I'Abbe  Trublet  informs  me  that 
he  is  keeping  the  sheet  in  reserve,  and  will  not  publish  it 
without  my  consent,  which  assuredly  I  shall  not  give. 
But,  this  may  not  be  the  only  copy  in  Paris.  It  is  my 
desire,  sir,  that  this  letter  be  not  printed  there,  and  I  shall 
do  my  best  to  prevent  it  ;  but  if  this  be  impossible,  I  shall 
not  hesitate  to  have  it  printed  myself,  provided  I  get  timely 
notice  and  can  have  the  preference.  This  seems  to  me  just 
and  natural. 

"  As  to  your  reply  to  the  letter,  it  has  been  communicated 
to  no  one,  and  you  may  rest  assured  it  will  not  be  printed 
without  your  consent,*  which  assuredly  I  shall  not  be  indiscret 
enough  to  ask  of  you,  well  aware  that  what  one  man  writes 
to  another,  he  writes  not  for  the  public.  But  if  you  will 
frame  an  answer  for  publication,  and  address  it  to  me,  I 


*  That  is,  (luring  his  and  my  life-time  ;  and  surely  the  most  rigor- 
ous demands,  especially  with  a  man  who  tramples  all  such  requirements 
under  foot,  can  go  no  farther. 


PERIOD  11.      BOOK  X,      1760.  289 

faithfully  promise  you  I  will  add  it  to  my  letter,  and  not 
write  a  single  word  in  reply. 

"  I  love  you  not,  sir  ;  you  have  done  me  wrongs  I  might 
well  feel  most  keenly,  me  your  disciple  and  enthusiastic 
admirer.  You  have  undone  Geneva,  in  return  for  the  asylum 
it  has  afforded  you  ;  you  have  alienated  my  fellow-citizens 
from  me,  in  return  for  the  applause  I  have  lavished  on  you 
among  them  :  'tis  you  that  render  my  stay  in  my  native 
country  insupportable  ;  'tis  you  that  will  be  the  cause  of  my 
dying  in  a  foreign  landj  deprived  of  all  the  consolations  of 
the  dying,  and,  for  funeral  rites,  cast  to  the  dogs ;  whilst  all 
the  honors  mortal  can  receive  will  be  lavished  on  you  in  my 
country.  Nay — since  so  you  will  have  it — I  hate  you  ;  but 
I  hate  you  as  a  man  more  worthy  of  loving  you,  would  have 
allowed  me.  Of  all  the  sentiments  my  heart  once  entertain- 
ed for  you,  there  remains  but  the  admh-ation  it  is  impossible 
to  refuse  your  fine  genius,  and  the  love  of  your  writings. 
'Tis  not  my  fault  if  all  I  can  honor  in  you  be  yom-  talents. 
I  shall  never  fail  tendermg  the  respect  due  them,  nor  depart 
fi"om  the  dictates  this  respect  prompts.     Adieu,  sir."* 

In  the  midst  of  these  various  petty  literary  squabbles, 
which  strengthened  me  more  and  more  in  my  resolution, f  I 
received  the  greatest  honors  my  writings  have  ever  brought 
me,  and  to  which  I  was  most  keenly  alive,  in  the  two  visits 
Prince  de  Conti  deigned  to  pay  me,  the  one  at  the  '  Petit 
Chateau,'  and  the  other  at  Mont-Louis.  He  even  chose,  on 
both  occasions,  tunes  when  Madam  de  Luxembourg  was  not 
at  Montmorency,  so  as  the  more  plainly  to  manifest  that  he 
came  solely  on  my  account.  I  have  never  doubted  that  I 
was  indebted  for  the  first  condescensions  of  the  Prince  to 
Madam  de  Luxembom-g  and  Madam  de  Boufflers;  but  I  feel 
equally  sure  that  I  owe  to  naught  but  the  dictates  of  his  ovm 

*  Observe  that  since  this  letter  was  written,  now  seven  years  ago,  I 
have  neither  spoken  of  it  nor  showed  it  to  a  living  soul.  It  was  the  same 
with  the  two  letters  Mr.  Hume  forced  me  to  write  him  last  summer,  till 
he  raised  the  hubbub  every  one  Icnows  of.  The  evil  I  have  to  say  of  my 
enemies,  I  say  to  themselves  and  in  private  ;  as  to  the  good,  when  there 
is  any,  I  proclaim  it  publicly  and  with  all  my  heart. 

f  The  resolution  to  withdraw  altogether  from  literary  life  and  liter- 
ary men.     Tr. 

II.  13 


290  Rousseau's  confessions. 

heart  and  to  myself  the  kindnesses  wherewith  he  has  never 
since  ceased  honoring  me.* 

My  apartments  at  Mont-Louis  being  very  small,  and  the 
situation  of  the  tower  charming,  I  conducted  the  Prince 
hither,  who,  to  crown  the  honor  he  had  done  me,  would  have 
me  play  a  game  of  chess  with  him.  I  knew  he  could  beat 
the  Chevalier  de  Lorenzy,  who  played  a  stronger  game  than 
I  did.  However,  notwithstanding  the  signs  and  grimaces  of 
the  Chevalier  and  the  spectators,  which  I  pretended  not  to 
notice,  I  won  the  two  games  we  played.  When  we  were 
through,  I  said  to  him  in  a  respectful,  though  grave  tone, 
"  My  Lord,  I  honor  yom-  Serene  Highness  too  much  not  to 
beat  you  for  ever  at  chess."  This  great  prince,  of  so  large  a 
mind,  so  generous  a  culture,  and  so  worthy  of  being  treated 
to  better  than  adulation,  felt,  indeed,  at  least  so  I  think, 
that  I  was  the  only  one  present  that  treated  him  like  a  man, 
and  I  have  every  reason  to  beUeve  he  was  much  obliged  to  me 
for  it. 

And  even  had  it  been  otherwise,  I  should  not  reproach 
myself  for  having  been  unwilling  to  deceive  him  in  aught,  and 
I  certainly  have  not  to  charge  myself  with  having  in  my 
heart  made  him  an  ill  return  for  his  goodness,  but  I  have  to 
charge  myself  with  having  at  times  made  this  return  with  a 
bad  grace,  whereas  he  himself  infused  an  infinite  charm  into 
his  manner  of  tendering  me  kindness.  A  few  days  after,  he 
sent  me  a  hamper  of  game,  which  I  received  properly.  This 
was  followed  by  another,  a  short  time  afterwards  ;  and  one 
of  his  game-keepers  wrote  me  by  his  orders  that  the  game 
was  shot  by  his  Highness's  own  hand.  This,  too,  I  received. 
But  I  wrote  to  Madam  de  Boufflers  that  I  would  have  no 
more.  This  letter  was  generally  blamed,  and  it  deserved  to 
be.  Refusing  to  accept  presents  of  game  from  a  prince  of 
the  blood,  who,  besides,  makes  the  envoi  in  so  polite  a  man- 
ner, is  less  the  delicacy  of  a  proud  man  who  wishes  to  preserve 
his  independence  than  the  rusticity  of  a  clown  that  does  not 
know  wlio  he  is.  I  have  never  since  read  over  this  letter 
without  blushing  and  reproaching  myself  for  having  written 

•  Note  the  persistency  of  this  blind  and  stupid  confidence,  amid  ail 
the  ill-treatment  I  have  received,  treatment  that  might  well  have  served 
to  disabuse  me.  I  have  only  got  my  eyes  opened  since  nij'  return  to 
Paris  in  1770. 


PERIOD  II.       BOOKX      1760  291 

it.  But  I  have  not  begun  my  Confessions  with  a  view  to 
concealing  my  blunders  and  follies,  and  this  matter  is  too  re- 
volting to  my  own  mind  to  suffer  me  to  pass  over  it  in 
silence. 

If  I  did  not  get  into  the  scrape  of  becoming  his  rival,  I 
came  very  near  it;  for  Madam  de  Boufflers  was  still  his  mis- 
tress, without  my  knowing  it.  She  came  to  see  me  quite  fre- 
quently along  with  the  Chevalier  de  Lorenzy.  She  was  still 
young  and  beautiful  ;  moreover,  she  affected  the  romantic, 
while  I  had  always  a  good  dash  of  that  article — quite  a 
bond  of  union,  you  see.  I  came  very  near  being  caught  ; 
and  this  I  think  she  perceived  ;  the  Chevalier  perceived  it, 
too  ;  at  least  he  spoke  to  me  on  the  subject,  and  in  quite  an 
encouraging  strain.  But,  for  the  nonce,  I  was  prudent, — 
and  it  was  time  at  fifty.  Full  of  the  lesson  I  had  just  been 
giving  grey-beards  in  my  letter  to  d'Alembert,  I  was  asham- 
ed to  profit  so  badly  by  my  own  preaching  ;  besides,  learning 
meanwhile  what  I  had  before  been  ignorant  of,  I  must  have 
been  mad  indeed  to  attempt  rivalry  on  so  high  a  scale.  Fin- 
ally, Hi-cured  yet,  perhaps,  of  my  passion  for  Madam  d'Hou- 
detot,  I  felt  that  nought  could  replace  it  in  my  heart,  and  1 
bade  farewell  to  love  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  At  the  moment  I 
wi'itel  have  just  withstood  the  very  dangerous  alkirements  of  a 
young  woman,  with  most  haunting  eyes,  who  had  views  of 
her  own  ;  but  if  she  feigned  to  forget  my  dozen  lustra,  I  re- 
membered them  very  well.  After  having  got  safely  through 
this  ordeal,  I  no  longer  fear  a  fall,  and  I  can  answer  for  my- 
self for  the  rest  of  my  days. 

Madam  de  Boufflers,  having  perceived  the  emotion  she 
had  called  up  in  me,  might  also  observe  that  I  had  triumph- 
ed over  it.  I  am  neither  fool  enough  nor  vain  enough  to 
think  I  could  at  my  age  have  inspired  her  with  anything  like 
love  ;  but  from  certain  expressions  she  let  fall  in  the  hearing 
of  Therese,  I  have  thought  I  had  inspired  her  with  curiosity: 
if  this  be  so,  and  she  have  not  forgiven  me  this  frustrated  curi- 
osity, it  must  surely  be  confessed  that  I  was  born  to  be  the 
victim  to  my  weaknesses,  since  love  vanquishing  was  so  fatal 
to  me,  and  love  vanquished  still  more  so. 

Here  finishes  the  collection  of  letters  that  has  guided  me 
through  these  two  books.  Henceforth  my  steps  must  follow 
the  foot-prints  left  on  memory.     But  so  vivid  is  my  remem- 


292  HOUSSEAU'S  CONFESSIONS. 

brance  of  the  events  of  this  direful  epoch,  and  so  profound  the 
impression  they  left  on  my  mind,  that,  though  lost  in  the 
boundless  ocean  of  my  misfortunes,  I  cannot  forget  the  details 
of  my  first  shipwreck,  though  its  after-effects  come  back  but 
dimly  and  dream-like.  Thus  I  shall  advance  ui  the  next  book 
with  still  assurance  enough.  If  I  proceed  any  farther,  though, 
it  must  be  in  the  dark. 


BOOK  XL 

1161. 

(  Though  the  Nouvelle  Heloise,  which  had  for  a  long  time 
'been  in  press,  had  not  yet  appeared  (end  of  It 60),  it  was 
beginning  to  make  quite  a  sensation.  Madam  de  Luxem- 
bourg spoke  of  it  at  court,  Madam  d'Houdetot,  in  Paris.  The 
latter  had  even  obtained  my  permission  for  Saint-Lambert 
to  have  it  read  in  manuscript  to  the  King  of  Poland,  who 
had  been  enchanted  with  it.  Duclos,  to  whom  I  also  had 
it  read,  made  mention  of  it  in  the  Academy.  All  Paris  was 
alive  with  impatience  to  see  the  much-talked-of  novel  ;  the 
booksellers  of  Rue  Saint-Jacques  and  the  Palais-Royal  were 
beset  with  people,  inquiring  when  it  was  to  be  out.  It  came 
at  last,  and,  contrary  to  custom,  the  success  it  met  with  was 
commensurate  with  the  eagerness  with  which  it  had  been 
looked  for.  Madam  la  Dauphine,  one  of  the  first  of  its  read- 
ers, spoke  of  it  to  Madam  de  Luxembourg  as  a  '  ravishing 
work.'  Opinions  were  divided  among  the  literats  :  but  else- 
where there  was  but  one  voice  ;  and  the  women  especially 
grew  so  intoxicated  with  the  book  and  its  author,  that  there 
were  but  few,  even  in  high  life,  of  whom  I  could  not  have 
made  the  conquest,  had  I  been  disposed  to.  Of  this  I  possess 
proofs  which  I  have  no  intention  of  making  public,  but  which 
authorize  my  assertion,  without  the  need  of  positive  expe- 
rience. It  is  singular  that  this  book  should  have  succeeded 
better  in  France  than  anywhere  else  in  Europe,  though  the 
French,  both  men  and  women,  are  not  over  tenderly  treated 
therein.  Quite  contrary  to  my  expectation,  it  was  least 
successful  in  Switzerland,  and  most  so  in  Paris.  Are,  then, 
friendship,  love,  virtue,  more  prevalent  in  Paris  than  else- 
where ?  Doubtless,  no  ;  but  what  is  to  be  found  there  more 
than  elsewhere  is  that  exquisite  sensibility  that  transports  the 
heart  at  the  image  of  these  virtues,  and  makes  one  cherish  in 
others  the  pure,  tender,  and  virtuous  sentiments  he  no  longer 
possesses  himself  Corruption  universally  reigns  triumplnint : 
virtue  and  morality  no  longer  exist  in  Em-ope  ;  l)ut  if  tliere 


294  Rousseau's  confessions. 

be  any  where  any  love  thereof  extant,  it  is  in  Paris  it  must 
be  songht  for.* 

One  must  needs  be  a  keen  analysist  of  the  human  heart 
to  discriminate  its  genuine  and  original  sentiments,  swathed 
and  surrounded  as  they  are  by  thousandfold  factitious  pas- 
sions and  prejudices.  A  nice  tact,  too — a  faculty  only  to  be 
acquired  in  the  liberal  education  of  the  School  of  the  World 
— ^is  requisite  in  order  to  appreciate  the  finesses  de  cceur — ■ 
the  heart-subtleties,  if  I  may  so  speak,  with  which  the  work 
abounds.  I  fearlessly  put  Part  Fourth  by  the  side  of  the 
'  Princess  of  Cleves/  and  I  venture  to  declare  that,  had  these 
two  productions  found  their  only  readers  in  the  Provinces, 
they  never  would  have  been  appreciated.  And  so,  there 
need  be  no  great  astonishment  that  the  work  met  with  its 
heartiest  reception  at  court.  It  is  fiill  of  vivid,  though 
veiled  touches,  calculated  to  please  there,  from  the  fact  that 
they  are  more  exercised  in  discovering  things  of  that  sort. 
A  distinction,  though,  must  here  me  made.  The  book  is  not 
at  all  the  thing  for  the  class  of  smart  folks  whose  only  keen- 
ness is  cunning,  who  have  an  eye  for  nothing  but  evil,  and 
can  see  naught  when  there  is  only  good  to  be  seen.  If,  for 
instance  the  Heloise  had  been  published  in  a  certain  country 
I  know  of,  I  am  sure  no  one  would  have  read  it  through, 
and  the  work  would  have  fallen  dead  from  the  press. 

I  have  filed  most  of  the  letters  wjitten  me  touching  this 
work,  and  the  collection  is  in  the  hands  of  Madam  de  Na- 
daillac.  Should  this  collection  ever  be  published,  it  will 
bring  to  light  many  very  singular  things,  and  exhibit  an  op- 
position of  opinion  that  will  show  what  it  is  to  have  to  do 
with  the  public.  The  thing  least  seen,  and  which  will  ever 
make  the  work  unique,  is  the  simplicity  of  the  plot,  the  whole 
centring  in  three  personages  ;  and  yet  the  interest  is  kept  up 
through  six  volumes,  without  a  solitary  episode,  romantic 
adventure  or  villainy  either  in  the  persons  or  actions.  Di- 
derot has  paid  Richardson  a  high  compliment  on  the  prodi- 
gious variety  of  his  tableaux  and  the  multitude  of  his  char- 
acters. Richardson  has  indeed  the  merit  of  having  distinctly 
individualized  all  his  portraits  ;  but  as  to  their  number,  he 
has  that  trait  in  common  with  the  most  wishy-washy  roman- 

*  I  wrote  this  in  17G9. 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  XI.       1761.  295 

cists,  who  attempt  to  make  up  for  the  steriUty  of  their  ideas 
by  dint  of  multiplying  persons  and  adventm'es.  It  is  easy 
to  arouse  the  attention  by  incessantly  bringing  on  new  faces 
and  unheard  of  occurences,  which  flit  by  like  iigures  in  a 
magic  lantern  ;  but  to  sustain  the  attention  on  the  same  in- 
dividuals and  the  same  objects,  unaided  by  marvelous  adven- 
tures, is  certainly  a  more  difficult  task  ;  and  if,  other  things 
being  equal,  the  simplicity  of  the  subject  adds  to  the  beauty 
of  the  work,  the  novels  of  Richardson,  superior  in  so  many 
respects,  cannot,  on  that  head,  enter  into  comparison  with 
mine.  It  is  dead,  I  know  ;  and  I  know  why  ;  but  it  will 
come  to  hfe  again. 

My  only  fear  was  lest,  from  its  very  simplicity,  my  nar- 
rative should  be  thought  wearisome,  and  lest  the  plot  should 
not  possess  interest  enough  to  carry  the  reader  through. 
From  this  apprehension  I  was  relieved  by  a  circumstance 
which  was  of  itself  more  flattering  to  my  pride  than  all  the 
compHments  the  work  could  have  brought  me. 

It  appeared  at  the  commencement  of  the  Carnival.  A 
hawker  carried  it  to  the  princess  de  T  almont  *  one  day  when 
there  was  to  be  a  ball  at  the  Opera.  After  supper  she 
dressed  to  go,  and,  while  waiting  the  hour,  set  to  reading 
the  new  novel.  At  midnight  she  ordered  the  horses  to  be 
put  to,  and  continued  reading.  They  came  and  told  her  the 
carriage  was  ready, — she  made  no  reply.  The  servants,  see- 
ing she  was  forgetting  herself,  came  and  told  her  it  was  two 
o'clock.  'There's  no  hurry,'  said  she,  reading  on.  Some 
time  after,  her  watch  having  stopped,  she  rang  to  know  the 
hour.  She  was  told  it  was  four  o'clock.  *  In  that  case,'  said 
she,  '  it  is  too  late  to  go  to  the  ball  ;  take  out  the  horses.' 
So  she  undressed,  and  passed  the  remainder  of  the  night 
reading. 

Ever  since  I  was  told  this  anectode,  I  always  desired  to 
see  Madam  de  Talmont,  not  only  to  know  from  her  own  lips 
if  it  be  exactly  true,  but  also  because  I  have  always  thought 
that  it  is  impossible  to  take  so  deep  an  interest  in  the  IrUloise 
without  having  that  sixth  and  metaphysical  sense,  wherewith 
so  few  souls  are  endowed,  and  without  which  no  man  can 
know  me. 

*  It  was  not  her,  but  another  lady,  whose  name  I  do  not  know;  the 
fact,  however,  I  am  certain  of. 


296  Rousseau's  confessions. 

"What  rendered  the  women  so  favorable  to  me  was  the 
persuasion  they  felt  that  I  had  written  my  own  life,  and  was 
myself  the  hero  of  the  story.  This  belief  was  so  firmly  rooted 
that  Madam  de  Polignac  wrote  to  Madam  de  Verdelin,  beg- 
ging she  would  prevail  upon  me  to  show  her  '  Julia's'  portrait. 
Every  body  felt  sure  it  was  impossible  for  any  one  to  give 
utterance  in  such  burning  words  to  sentiments  he  had  never 
felt — impossible  thus  to  paint  the  transports  of  love  unless 
the  portrait  were  drawn  from  the  life.  In  this  they  were 
right — I  did  wi'ite  the  romance  in  the  most  burning  and 
high-wrapt  ecstasies  ;  but  they  were  not  right  in  assuming 
that  real  objects  were  indispensible  to  its  creation,  nor  knew 
they  how  my  heart  grows  enflamed  for  beings  purely  ideal. 
Saving  certain  reminiscences  of  youth  and  Madam  d'Houde- 
tot,  the  loves  I  felt  and  described  could  have  taken  ob- 
jective form  nowhere  but  among  sylphs  and  fays.  I  neither 
wished  to  confirm  nor  destroy  so  delightful  an  error  ;  and  the 
reader  may  see  in  the  prefatory  dialogue,  which  I  had 
printed  separately,  how  I  managed  to  leave  the  public  in  sus- 
pense touching  the  matter.  Your  rigorists  assert  I  ought 
to  have  come  out  roundly  with  the  truth.  For  my  own  part, 
I  see  no  reason  for  this,  and  am  of  opinion  that  there  would 
have  been  more,  stupidity  than^candor  in  any  such  uncalled 
for  declaration.,,!  "<  7,-    ■  - 

Much  about  this  same  tiifie  appeared  the  'Perpetual 
Peace,'  the  manuscript  of  which  I  had  the  year  before  ceded 
to  a  certain  M.  de  Bastide,  the  Editor  of  a  journal  called 
'The  World,'  {k  Mo'nde),  into  which  he  would,  willing  or 
unwilling,  have  me  let  him  cram  all  my  productions.  He 
was  an  acquaintance  of  M.  Duclos',  and  came  to  me  in  his 
name,  begging  me  to  help  him  fill  the  '  Monde.'  He  had 
heard  speak  of  the  Heloise,  and  wished  me  to  bring  it  out 
in  his  sheet :  so,  too,  with  the  Emile  ;  and  I  dare  say  he 
would  have  wanted  me  to  do  the  same  with  the  '  Social-Con- 
tract,' had  he  suspected  its  existence.  At  length,  tired  to 
death  with  his  importunities,  I  resolved  on  letthig  him  have, 
for  the  sum  of  twelve  louis,  my  abstract  of  the  '  Perpetual 
Peace.'  Our  agreement  was  that  he  should  print  it  in  his 
paper  ;  but,  no  sooner  had  he  got  the  manuscript  into  his 
hands,  than  he  went  away  and  printed  it  separately,  with 
certain  retrenchments  requu'ed  by  the   Censor.      What   a 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  XI.       1761.  291 

pretty  job  it  would  have  been,  had  I  attached  my  Critique 
to  the  work  1  Fortunately,  however,  I  had  not  spoken  of 
this  to  M.  de  Bastide,  nor  had  it  entered  into  the  bargain. 
This  Critique  is  still  in  manuscri})t  among  my  papers.  If 
ever  it  be  made  public,  the  world  will  see  how  amused  I 
must  have  been  at  the  pleasantries  and  self-sufficient  tone  of 
Voltaire  on  the  subject — I  that  saw  so  well  the  very  micro- 
scopic ability  of  the  poor  man  in  political  matters,  about  which 
however,  he  would  persist  in  canting. 

In  the  midst  of  my  success  with  the  public,  and  at  the 
height  of  my  favor  with  the  ladies,  I  felt  I  was  losing 
ground  at  the  Hot^l  de  Luxembourg,  not  with  the  Mar- 
shal, whose  kindness  and  friendship  towards  me  seemed  to 
increase  day  by  day  ;  but  with  the  Marchioness.  The 
reading  resource  being  now-exhausted,  my  access  to  her,  I 
found,  became  less  free  ;  and  during  her  visits  to  Montmor- 
ency, although  I  was  very  faithful  in  my  attendance,  I 
scarce  ever  saw  her  except  at  table.  Nor,  indeed,  was  my 
place  there  as  marked  as  before,  when  she  had  made  me 
sit  by  her.  As  she  no  longer  offered  me  this  seat,  I  liked 
another,  where  I  could  be  more  at  my  ease,  quite  as  well, 
especially  as  she  now  spoke  but  little  to  me,  and  I  myself 
had  not  a  great  deal  to  say  to  her.  More  particularly 
was  this  the  case  in  the  evening,  for  mechanically  I  found 
myself  getting  into  the  habit  of  drawing  closer  and  closer 
to  the  Marshal. 

Speaking  of  the  evening,  I  remember  I  said  I  was  not 
in  the  habit  of  taking  supper  at  the  chateau.  This  was 
the  case  at  the  commencement  of  the  acquaintance  ;  but 
as  M.  de  Luxembourg  was  not  wont  to  dine  at  the  regular 
hour,  nor  even  to  sit  down  to  table,  it  happened  that  I  had 
been  several  months  a  frequenter  of  the  house,  and  had 
grown  quite  intimate  with  the  whole  family  without  having 
once  eaten  with  the  Marshal.  This  fact  he  had  the  good- 
ness to  mention  ;  so  I  determined  to  sup  with  them  at  times, 
when  they  had  not  much  company.  This  I  liked  well,  as 
dinner  was  made  very  little  of,  scarcely  sitting  down  in 
fact ;  whereas  supper  was  taken  leisurely,  everybody  re- 
maining seated  with  pleasure  after  a  long  walk.  Very 
capital  these  suppers  were,  too,  M.  de  Luxembourg  being 
a  good  liv.M- :  and  very  agreeable,  Madam  de  Luxembourg, 
II.  13* 


298  Rousseau's  confessions. 

doing  the  honors  most  charmingly.  Without  this  explana- 
tion, it  would  be  difficult  to  understand  the  end  of  a  letter 
from  M.  de  Luxembourg,  (File  C,  Xo.  36,)  in  which  he 
says  he  finds  great  pleasure  in  the  recollection  of  our  walks, 
'especially,'  adds  he,  'when  we  found  no  carriage-tracks  on 
entering  the  court-yard  in  the  evening.'  The  rake  being 
drawn  over  the  gravel  every  morning,  so  as  to  obliterate 
the  wheel-marks,  I  used  to  judge  from  the  number  of  ruts 
how  many  people  had  come  during  the  afternoon. 

This  year,  1761,  filled  up  the  measure  of  thick-falling 
bereavements  this  good  seigneur  had  been  called  to  under- 
go ever  since  I  had  the  honor  of  knowing  him  ;  as  though 
it  had  been  ordained  that  the  woes  fate  was  preparing  for 
me  were  to  begin  with  the  man  to  whom  I  was  most  at- 
tached, and  who  was  most  worthy  of  this  attachment. 
The  first  year,  he  lost  his  sister,  the  Duchess  of  Yilleroy  ; 
the  second  he  lost  his  daughter,  the  Princess  de  Robeck  ; 
the  third  he  lost  in  the  Duke  of  Montmorency  his  only  son, 
and  iu  Count  de  Luxemberg  his  grandson — the  sole  and 
last  representatives  of  his  line  and  name.  He  supported 
these  various  losses  with  apparent  fortitude,  but  his  heart 
never  afterwards  ceased  bleeding  inwardly,  and  his  health 
rapidly  declined.  The  sudden  and  tragical  death  of  his 
son  must  have  afflicted  him  all  the  more  poignantly  as  it 
happened  just  as  the  king  had  granted  him  for  his  son, 
and  given  him  in  promise  for  his  grandson,  the  reversion  of 
the  commission  he  himself  held,  of  Captain  of  the  Body 
Guards.  He  had  the  grief  to  see  the  latter,  a  most  prom- 
ising lad,  pine  away  and  die  before  his  eyes,  from  the 
blind  confidence  of  the  mother  in  the  physician,  who  sutfer- 
ed  the  poor  child  to  die  of  starvation,  giving  him  nothing 
but  medicines  for  food.  Alas  1  had  my  advice  been  taken, 
the  grandfather  and  grandson  would  have  been  both  alive 
yet.  What  did  I  not  say,  what  did  I  not  write  to  the 
Marshal  !  what  remonstrances  did  I  not  make  to  Madam 
de  Montmorency,  upon  the  more  than  severe  regimen 
which,  after  the  direction  of  the  physician,  she  made  her 
son  observe.  Madam  de  Luxembourg,  who  thought  as  I 
did,  did  not  like  to  usurp  the  mother's  authority  ;  while 
M.  de  Luxembourg,  with  his  easy  and  feeble  nature,  was  loathe 
to  cross  her.  Madam  de  Montmorency  had  a  faith  iu  Borden. 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  XI.     1767.  299 

to  which  her  son  fell  a  victim.  How  delighted  was  the 
poor  little  fellow  when  he  could  obtain  permission  to  come 
to  Mont-Louis  with  Madam  de  Boufflers,  and  ask  Therese 
for  some  food  for  his  famishing  stomach  !  How  often  did 
I  secretly  deplore  the  miseries  of  greatness  in  seeing  this 
her  only  heir  to  an  immense  fortune,  a  great  name,  and  so 
many  dignified  titles  devour  with  the  greediness  of  a  beg- 
gar, a  pitiful  piece  of  bread  !  At  length,  notwithstanding 
all  I  could  say  or  do,  the  physician  triumphed,  and  the 
child  died  of  starvation  ! 

The  same  confidence  in  quacks  that  killed  the  grandson 
hastened  also  the  dissolution  of  the  grandfather ;  and  to 
this  the  charlatan  added  the  pusillanimity  of  attempting  to 
dissimulate  the  infirmities  of  age.  M.  de  Luxembourg  had 
at  intervals  been  afflicted  with  a  pain  in  the  great  toe  ; 
while  at  Montmorency  he  was  seized  with  an  attack  of  it 
that  deprived  him  of  sleep,  and  induced  a  slight  fever.  I 
ventured  to  pronounce  the  word  '  gout,'  whereat  Madam 
de  Luxembourg  roundly  reprimanded  me.  The  surgeon, 
valet  de  chambre  to  the  Marshal,  maintained  it  was  not 
gout,  and  dressed  the  suffering  part  with  leaume  tranquiUe. 
Unfortunately  the  pain  subsided  ;  and  when  it  returned, 
the  same  remedy  that  had  proved  efficacious  was  resorted 
to.  The  Marshal's  constitution  was  radically  impaired  : 
his  disorders  multiplied,  and  therewith  his  remedies  in  the 
same  ratio.  Madam  de  Luxembourg,  who  at  length  had 
to  recognize  that  the  root  of  the  matter  really  was  the 
gout,  objected  to  the  dangerous  manner  of  treating  it. 
Things  were  afterwards  concealed  from  her,  and  M.  de 
Luxembourg  in  a  few  years  lost  his  life  in  consequence  of 
her  obstinate  determination  to  effect  a  cure.  But  let  us 
not  anticipate  such  far-off  misfortune  :  how  many  others 
have  I  to  relate  before  I  come  to  this. 

It  is  singular  with  what  fatality  everything  I  could  say 
or  do  seemed  to  displease  Madam  de  Luxembourg,  even 
when  I  had  it  most  at  heart  to  preserve  her  good  will. 
The  repeated  afflictions  that  befel  M.  de  Luxembourg  but 
drew  me  the  closer  to  him,  and  consequently  to  Madam  de 
Luxembourg  :  for  they  always  seemed  to  me  to  be  so  sin- 
cerely united  that  the  sentiments  I  felt  towards  the  one, 
necessarily  extended  to  the  other.     The  Marshal  was  grow- 


300  Rousseau's  confessions. 

ing  old.     His  assiduity  at  court,  the  cares  this  brought  on, 
his  continually  hunting,  and  especially  the  fatigue  he  in- 
curred during  the   quarter  he  was   in  attendance  on  the 
king,  would  have  required  the  vigor  of  a  young  man,  and 
I  very  clearly  saw  it  would   be  quite  impossible  for   him 
long  to  continue  this  course.     Besides,  as,  after  his  death, 
his  dignities  were  to  be  dispersed  and   his  name  die  out, 
little  call  was  there  for  him  to  continue  a  laborious  life, 
the  leading  aim  of  which  had  been  to  gain  his  children  the 
favor  of  the  prince.     One   day  when  we   three  were  to- 
gether, and  he  was  complaining  of  the  fatigues  of  court, 
as  a  man  who  had  been  discouraged  by  his  losses,  I  took 
the  liberty  to  speak  of  retirement,  and  gave  him  the  ad- 
vice   Cyueas    gave    Pyrrhus.       He  sighed,    and  returned 
no  positive  answer.     But  the  moment  Madam  de  Luxem- 
bourg got  me  alone,  she  reprimanded  me  severely  for  my 
advice,  which  seemed  to  have  alarmed  her.     She  made  a 
remark  the  truth  of  which  I  so  forcibly  felt,  that  I  deter- 
mined never  again  to  touch  on  the  subject :  this  was  that 
the  long  habit  of  living  at  court  had  made  it  a  sort  ot 
second  nature,  that  it  had  become  a  matter  of  amusement 
for  M.  de  Luxembourg,   and  that  the  retirement   I  pro- 
posed to  him  would  be  less  a  relaxation  from  care  than  an 
exile,  in  which  inactivity,  weariness  and  melancholy  would 
soon  put  an    end  to  his   existence.     Although  she   must 
have  perceived  I  was  convinced,  and  ought  to  have  relied 
on  the  promise  I  made  her — a  promise  I  faithfully  kept — 
she  still  seemed  to  doubt  of  it ;   and  I  recollect  that  the 
conversations  I  afterwards  had  with  the  Marshal  were  less 
frequent,  and  almost  always  interrupted. 

Whilst  my  stars  and  stupidity  were  thus  conspiring  to 
injure  me  in  her  opinion,  certain  persons  whom  she  fre- 
quently saw  and  most  loved,  were  far  from  being  disposed 
to  aid  me  in  gaining  the  ground  I  had  lost.  The  Abbe 
de  Bouillers,  e.specially,  a  young  man  as  brilliant  as  it  was 
possible  for  a  young  man  to  be,  never  seemed  well  disposed 
towards  me  ;  and  not  only  was  he  the  sole  person  of  Ma- 
dam de  Luxembourg's  acquaintance  that  never  showed 
me  the  least  attention,  but  I  thought  I  perceived  I  lost 
some'A'hat  with  her  every  time  he  visited  the  chateau. 
True,  it  was  unnecessary  for  him  to  do  any  thing  directly 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  XI.       1761.  301 

to  this  end, — his  mere  presence  was  of  itself  sufficient  to 
produce  the  effect :  into  such  awful  relief  did  his  grace- 
ful and  elegant  manners  bring  the  dullness  of  my  stupid 
spropositi.  Daring  the  first  two  years,  he  seldom  came  to 
Montmorency,  and  by  the  indulgence  of  Madam  de  Lux- 
embourg I  had  held  my  ground  pretty  well ;  but  no  sooner 
did  he  begin  to  visit  regularly  than  I  was  irretrievably  lost. 
I  tried  to  take  refuge  under  his  wing,  and  gain  his  friend- 
ship ;  but  the  same  awkwardness  that  made  it  necessary  I 
should  please  him,  prevented  me  from  succeeding  in  the 
attempt  I  made  to  do  so,  and  as  my  evil  genius  would  have 
it,  what  I  did  with  that  intention  entirely  ruined  me  with 
Madam  de  Luxembourg  without  being  of  the  least  service 
to  me  with  the  Abbe.  With  his  intellect  he  might  have 
succeeded  in  anything,  but  the  impossibility  of  applying 
himself,  and  his  tendency  to  dissipation,  prevented  his  ever 
acquiring  more  than  a  half-knowledge  of  any  subject.  His 
talents  are  various,  however,  and  this  is  sufficient  for  the 
circles  in  which  he  wishes  to  distinguish  himself.  He 
writes  light  poetry  and  fashionable  letters,  strums  on  the 
cithern,  and  pretends  to  draw  with  crayons.  He  took  it 
into  his  head  to  attempt  the  portrait  of  Madam  de  Lux- 
embourg :  the  sketch  he  produced  was  horrid.  She  would 
have  it  that  it  did  not  resemble  her  in  the  least,  and  this 
was  true.  The  traitorous  Abbe  consulted  me  ;  and  I,  like 
a  fool  and  a  liar,  said  there  was  a  likeness.  I  wished  to 
come  round  the  Abbe,  but  made  a  devil  of  a  mess  of  it 
with  the  lady,  who  took  note  of  what  I  had  said  ;  and  the 
Abbe,  having  got  what  he  wanted  out  of  me,  turned  round 
and  laughed  at  me.  The  ill-success  of  this  my  late  begin- 
ning taught  me  the  necessity  of  never  making  another  at- 
tempt to  flatter  invita  Mmerva. 

My  talent  lay  in  energetically  and  courageously  telling 
men  useful  but  severe  truths  :  to  this  mission  I  ought  to 
have  confined  myself.*  Not  only  was  I  never  born  to 
flatter, — I  never  could  even  praise.     The  maladresse  with 

*  "  Blessed  be  the  early  days  when  I  sat  at  the  feet  of  Eousseau, 
prophet  sad  and  stately  as  any  of  Jewry.  Every  onward  movement  of 
the  age,  every  downward  step  into  the  depths  of  my  own  soul,  recalls 
thy  oracles,  0  Jean  Jacques  1  "  Margaret  Fuller,  in  Memoirs,  "Vol.  I. 
p.25l.     Tr. 


302  Rousseau's  confessions. 

which  I  have  sometimes  lauded,  has  done  me  more  harm 
than  all  the  severity  of  my  censure.  Of  this  I  have  to  ad- 
duce one  terrible  instance,  the  consequences  of  which  have 
not  only  sealed  my  fate  for  the  rest  of  ray  life,  but  will  per- 
ha}DS  decide  my  reputation  throughout  all  posterity. 

During  the  residence  of  M.  de   Luxembourg  at  Mont- 
morency, M.  de  Choiseul  sometimes  came  and  took  supper 
at  the  chateau.     He  arrived  there  one  day  after  I  had  left 
it.     My  name   was  mentioned,    and  M.   de   Luxembourg 
related  to  him  what  had  happened  at  Venice,  between  M. 
de  Montaigu  and  myself.     M.  de  Choiseul  said  it  was  a 
pity  I  had  abandoned  this  line  and  that  if  I  chose  to  enter 
it  again  he  would  not  ask  better  than  to  give  me  employ- 
ment.    M.  de  Luxembourg  told  me  what  had  passed.     Of 
this  I  was  the  more  sensible  as  I  was  not  accustomed  to  be 
spoiled  by  ministers  ;  and  had  I  been  in  a  better  state  of 
health,  it  is  not  certain  but  that  I  would  have  been  guilty 
of  a  new  folly.     Ambition  had  never  any  power  over  me 
except  during  the  short  intervals  when  under  the  control  of 
no  other  passion  ;  but  one  of  these  intervals  would  have 
to  determine  me.     This  good  intention  of  M.  de  Choiseul 
gained  him  my  attachment,  and  increased  the  esteem  which 
certain  strokes  in  his  administration  had  given  me  for  his 
talents  ;  and  the  '  family  compact '  in  particular  had  appear- 
ed to   me  to  evince  a  statesman  of  the   first  order.     He 
gained  ground,  moreover,  in  my  estimation  from  the  very 
small  respect  I  entertained  for  his  predecessors,  not  even 
excepting  Madam  de  Pompadour,  whom  I  considered  as  a 
species  of  Prime  Minister  ;  and  when  it  was  reported  that 
one  of  these  two  would  expel  the  other,  I  thought  I  was 
oflering  up  prayert'  for  the  honor  of  France  when  I  wished 
that  M.  de  Choiseul  should  triumph.     I  had  always  felt  an 
antipathy  to  Madam  de  Pompadour,  even  before  her  pre- 
ferment :    I  had   seen  her  at  Madam  de  la  Popliniere's, 
when  she  still  bore  the  name  of  Madam  d'Etioles.     I  was 
afterwards  dissatisfied  with  her  silence  during  Diderot's  im- 
prisonment, and  with  her  proceedings  relative  to  myself  as 
well   touching   the    '  Petes  de   Raniire '   and   the    '  Muses 
Galantes,'  as  the  '  Devin  du  Village,'  wliich  had  not,  in  any 
way,  brought  me  advantages  proportioned  to  its  success  ; 
and  on  all  occasions  I  had  found  her  but  little  disposed  to 


PERIOD  11.       BOOK  XL       1*761.  303 

serve  me.  This,  however,  did  not  prevent  the  Chevalier  de 
Lorenzy  from  proposing  to  me  to  write  something  in  praise 
of  that  lad^,  insinuating  that  I  might  gain  by  it.  The 
proposition  excited  my  indignation  the  more  as  I  perceived 
it  did  not  come  from  himself,  knowing  that,  passive  as  he 
was,  he  thought  and  acted  according  to  order.  So  little 
ability  have  I  to  keep  back  anything,  that  it  was  impossible 
for  me  to  conceal  my  contempt  for  his  proposition,  nor  hide 
from  any  body  the  very  moderate  opinion  I  had  of  La 
Favorite..  This  I  was  sure  she  knew,  and  thus  my  own 
interest  was  added  to  my  inclination,  in  my  wishes  for  the 
triumph  of  M.  de  Choiseul.  Prepossessed  with  esteem  for 
his  talents — all  I  knew  of  him  ;  full,  too,  of  gratitude  for 
his  kind  intentions,  and  wholly  unacquainted  in  my  retire- 
ment, with  his  tnstes  and  manner  of  living,  I,  to  begin  with, 
considered  him  the  avenger  of  the  public  and  myself ;  and 
being  at  that  time  engaged  on  the  final  revision  of  my 
'  Social  Contract,'  I  stated  in  a  single  passage,  what  I 
thought  of  proceeding  ministries,  and  of  the  present  one 
which  was  beginning  to  eclipse  them  all.*  In  doing  so  I 
acted  contrary  to  my  most  constant  maxim  ;  and,  besides,  I 
did  not  recollect  that  when  a  person  undertakes  strongly 
to  praise  and  censure  in  the  same  article,  without  mention- 
ing names,  he  ought  so  to  point  the  praise  that  not  the 
most  ticklish  pride  shall  be  able  to  find  in  it  aught  equivo- 
cal. I  felt  so  imprudent  a  security  touching  this  matter, 
that  I  never  once  thought  it  was  possible  for  any  one  to 
make  a  false  application.  Whether  I  was  right  or  no  will 
soon  appear. 

One  of  my  haps  was  always  to  be  connected  with  some 
female  author  or  another.  This  I  thought  I  might  escape 
among  the  great  at  least.  But  no  ;  it  still  pursued  me. 
Madam  de  Luxembourg  was  not,  however — at  least  that  I 
knew  of— attacked  with  the  scribbling-mania  ;  but  Madam 
de  Boufilers  was  :  she  wrote  a  prose  tragedy,  which  was  read, 
ventilated  and  highly  spoken  of  in  the  society  of  Prince  de 
Couti.  However,  not  satisfied  with  the  encomiums  she  had 
received,  she  persisted  in  having  my  opinion  of  it.  This  she 
obtained,  but  with  that  moderation  the  work  deserved. 
Along  with  it  she  also  got  a  piece  of  information  I  thought 

•  "Social  Contract,"  Book  III,  chapter  VI.     Tr. 


304  Rousseau's  confessions. 

it  my  duty  to  give  her — namely,  that  her  piece,  entitled 
'The  Generous  Slave'  {VEsdave  Genereux,)  greatly  re- 
sembled an  English  tragedy  but  little  known  in  France, 
though  translated,  called  '  Oronoko.'  Madam  de  Bouflf- 
lers  thanked  me  for  the  information,  assuring  me,  however, 
that  there  was  not  the  smallest  resemblance  between  her 
piece  and  the  other.  I  never  spoke  of  this  plagiarism  to  any 
one  whatever  except  herself,  and  then  only  to  discharge  a  duty 
she  had  imposed  on  me.  This  has  not  prevented  me  from 
frequently  recollecting  the  fate  of  Gil  Bias,  on  fulfilling  a 
similar  duty  towards  the  sermonizing  Archbishop. 

Putting  aside  the  Abbe  de  Boufflers,  who  did  not  like 
me,  and  Madam  de  Boufflers,  in  whose  eyes  I  was  guilty 
of  what  neither  women  nor  authors  ever  pardon,  th.6 
various  other  friends  of  the  Marchioness  appeared  but 
little  disposed  to  become  mine.  Among  this  number  was 
President  Renault,  who  was  not  exempt  from  the  weak- 
nesses incident  to  the  autorial  tribe,  among  which  he  was 
enrolled  ;  also  Madam  du  Deifand  and  Mile,  de  Lespinasse, 
both  extremely  intimate  with  Voltaire,  and  close  friends  of 
d'Alembert,  with  whom  the  latter  even  ended  by  going  and 
living :  in  all  honor  and  uprightness,  understand  you  :  for 
it  cannot  be  understood  I  mean  otherwise.  I  had  begun 
by  feeling  a  strong  interest  in  Madam  du  Deffand,  whom 
the  loss  of  her  eyes  made  an  object  of  commiseration  to 
me  :  but  her  maimer  of  living,  so  contrary  to  my  own  that 
her  hour  of  going  to  bed  was  almost  mine  for  rising ;  her 
unbounded  passion  for  microscopic  manifestations  of  wit, 
the  immense  importance  for  good  or  evil  she  attached  to 
every  sort  of  printed  trash,*  the  despotism  and  extrava- 
gance of  her  oracles,  her  excessive  admiration  or  dislike  of 
everything,  so  much  so  as  to  render  it  impossible  for  her  to 
speak  without  convulsions,  her  inconceivable  prejudices,  in- 
vincil)le  obstinacy,  and  the  enthusiasm  of  folly  to  which  her 
headiness  carried  her  in  her  passionate  judgments— all 
combined  soon  resulted  in  putting  a  damper  on  the  atten- 
tion I  had  felt  disposed  to  pay  her.  I  neglected  her ;  this 
she  perceived,  which  was  of  itself  enough  to  set  her  in  a 
rage.  However,  although  I  was  sufficiently  aware  how 
much  a  woman  of  her  nature  was  to  be  feared,  I  preferred 

*  '  Torche-culs' — bumfodder  as  he  has  it,  the  terrible  J.  J. — Tr. 


PERIOD  11.       BOOK  XI.      1761.  305 

exposing  myself  to  the  scourge  of  her  hatred  rather  than 
to  that  of  her  friendshijD. 

My  having  so  few  friends  among  Madam  de  Luxem- 
bourg's acquaintances  would  not  have  mattered  so  much, 
had  I  not  had  enemies  in  her  family.  One,  and  but  one  I 
had,  though  he,  in  my  present  situation,  is  as  powerful  as  a 
hundred.  It  certainly  was  not  M.  de  Yilleroy,  her  brother; 
for  he  not  only  came  to  see  me,  but  had  several  times  in- 
vited me  to  Villeroy ;  and  as  I  had  answered  the  invita- 
tion with  all  possible  politeness  and  respect,  he  had  taken 
my  vague  reply  for  a  consent,  and  had  arranged  with  M. 
and  Mme.  de  Luxembourg,  a  jaunt  of  a  fortnight,  I  to 
make  one  of  the  party.  As  the  cares  my  health  then  re- 
quired did  not  permit  my  going  from  home  without  risk,  I 
prayed  M.  de  Luxembourg  to  have  the  goodness  to  get  me 
excused.  This  was  granted  with  the  best  possible  grace, 
as  his  answer  shows,*  and  M.  de  Yilleroy  still  continued  to 
show  me  his  usual  marks  of  kindness.  His  nephew  and 
heir,  the  young  Marquis  de  Villeroy,  did  not  share  his 
uncle's  good-will  for  me,  nor  I  confess  had  I  for  him  the 
respect  I  had  for  the  other.  His  hair-brained  ways  render- 
ed him  insupportable  to  me,  and  my  coldness  excited  his 
aversion.  He  played  me  a  devilish  prank  one  evening  at 
table,  leading  me  into  an  awful  scrape,  in  which  I  got  the 
worst  of  it,  fool  that  I  am,  totally  destitute  of  presence  of 
mind,  while  anger,  instead  of  rendering  my  wits  more  keen, 
does  but  deprive  me  of  what  little  of  that  article  I  do 
possess.  I  had  a  dog  that  had  been  given  me  when  he  was 
quite  young,  soon  after  my  removal  to  the  Hermitage,  and 
w^hich  I  had  called 'Duke.'  This  dog,  not  handsome,  but 
rare  of  his  kind,  of  which  I  had  made  a  companion  and 
friend — a  title  he  certainly  had  a  much  better  claim  to  than 
most  of  the  persons  that  usurped  it,  became  quite  a  pet  at 
the  chateau  from  his  good  nature  and  fondness,  and  the 
attachment  we  had  for  each  other  ;  but  from  a  foolish 
piece  of  weakness  I  had  changed  his  name  to  'Turk,'  as  if 
there  were  not  lots  of  dogs  called  'Marquis'  without  any 
Marquis'  feeling  the  least  offended  thereat.  The  Marquis 
de  Villeroy,  learning  this  change  of  name,  attacked  me  in 
such  a  way  that  I  was  obliged  openly  to  relate  what  I  had 
*  File  D,  No.  3. 


306  Rousseau's  confessions. 

done  before  the  whole  table.  Whatever  insult  the  affair 
might  reflect  on  the  name  '  Duke/  it  was  not  in  having 
given  it,  but  in  having  taken  it  away  from  him.  The  worst 
of  it  was,  there  were  quite  a  number  of  dukes  present  :  M. 
de  Luxembourg  was  one,  so  also  was  his  son.  Meanwhile, 
the  Marquis  de  Villeroy,  destined  to  attain  to  the  same 
title — which,  indeed,  he  now  enjoys — chuckled  most  mali- 
ciously over  the  scrape  he  had  got  me  into.  I  was  told  next 
day  that  his  aunt  had  severely  reprimanded  him,  and  you 
may  guess  whether  or  no,  supposing  she  really  did  so,  this 
must  have  put  me  upon  any  better  terms  with  him. 

As  counterpoise  to  this  influence,  I  had  no  pei'son  either 
at  the  Hotel  de  Luxembourg  or  the  Temple,  except  the 
Chevalier  de  Lorenzy,  that  professed  himself  ray  friend  ; 
but  he  was  more  a  friend  of  d'Alembert,  under  whose 
shadow  he  passed  with  the  women  for  a  great  geometrician. 
He  was  moreover  the  cicisbeo,  or  rather  the  complaisant 
cavalier  of  the  Countess  de  Boufiiers,  also  a  great  friend 
of  d'Alembert's  ;  and  the  Chevalier  de  Lorenzy,  lived  and 
moved  and  had  his  being  only  in  her.  Thus,  far  from 
having  any  counterbalance  without  to  my  ineptitude  to 
keep  me  in  the  good  graces  of  Madam  de  Luxembourg, 
everybody  that  approached  her  seemed  to  conspire  to  in- 
jure me  in  her  opinion.  Yet,  besides  the  '  Emile,'  which 
she  had  requested  permission  to  look  after,  she  gave  me  at 
the  same  time  another  mark  of  interest  and  good-will, 
which  made  me  imagine  that  though  tired  of  me,  she  pre- 
served and  would  ever  preserve  for  me  the  friendship  she 
had  so  many  times  promised  me  for  life. 

As  soon  as  I  had  thought  I  could  depend  on  the  con- 
tinuance of  this  frame  of  mind,  I  had  begun  to  ease  my 
mind  by  confessing  to  her  all  my  faults,  having  laid  it  down 
as  an  inviolable  rule  to  appear  to  my  friends  as  I  really 
was,  neither  better  nor  worse.  I  had  told  her  of  my  con- 
nection witli  Therese,  and  all  that  had  come  of  it — not 
even  keeping  back  how  I  had  disposed  of  my  children. 
She  had  received  my  confessions  favorably, — too  much  so, 
even  sparing  me  tlie  censures  I  so  much  merited  ;  and 
what  made  the  deepest  impression  on  me  was  her  goodness 
to  Therese,  making  her  little  presents,  sending  for  her,  and 
begging  her  to  come  and  see  her,  receiving  her  most  affec- 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  XI.       1761.  301 

tionately,  and  very  often  even  embracing  her  in  public. 
The  poor  girl  was  transported  with  joy  and  gratitude,  and 
I  certainly  shared  her  feelings  ;  the  tokens  of  friendship 
M.  and  Mme.  de  Luxembourg  showered  on  me  through  her 
affecting  me  much  more  profoundly  than  if  they  had  been 
paid  me  directly. 

Things  remained  in  this  state  for  a  considerable  time  ; 
but  at  length  Madam  de  Luxeml)ourg  carried  her  good- 
ness so  far  as  to  wish  to  take  one  of  my  children  from 
the  Foundling-Hospital.  She  knew  I  had  had  a  cipher  put 
mto  the  swaddhng-clothes  of  the  eldest  ;  she  asked  me  for 
the  counterpart  of  it,  and  I  gave  it  to  her.  In  this  search, 
she  employed  M.  La  Roche,  her  valet  de  chambre,  and  homme  de 
confidence  who  made  all  sorts  of  inquiries,  but  all  fruitless,  though 
certainly  had  the  registers  of  the  PouudUng-Hospital  been  in 
order,  or  the  inquisition  properly  made,  the  original  cipher 
ought  to  have  been  found,  as  but  fifteen  years  had  elapsed 
meanwhile.  However  this  may  be,  I  was  less  sorry  for  this 
ill-success  than  I  should  have  been,  had  I  from  time  to  time 
contmued  to  see  the  chhd  from  his  birth  up.  If  by  the  aid 
of  the  indicia  given,  another  child  had  been  presented  to  me 
as  my  own,  the  doubt  of  its  really  being  so,  and  the  fear  of 
having  another  substituted  in  its  place,  would  have  chilled 
my  affection,  and  I  should  not  have  enjoyed  in  all  its  pleni- 
tude the  genuine  yearning  of  nature.  This  needs  to  be  kept 
up  by  habit,  at  least  during  infancy.  The  long  absence  of  a 
child  one  has  not  yet  learned  to  know,  weakens,  and  at  last 
annihilates  paternal  and  maternal  feelings  ;  and  parents  will 
never  love  a  child  sent  to  nurse  hke  one  that  has  been  brought 
up  under  their  own  eyes.  This  consideration  may  extenuate 
the  sin  in  its  effects,  but  it  only  aggravates  the  heuiousness  of 
the  origin  thereof. 

It  may  not,  perchance,  be  useless  to  observe  that  this 
same  La  Roche  became,  through  Therese,  acquainted  with 
Madam  Le  Yasseur,  whom  Grimm  still  supported  at  Deuil, 
near  La  Chevrette,  and  not  far  from  Montmorency.  After 
my  departure,  it  was  through  M.  La  Roche  I  continued  to 
send  this  woman  the  money  I  have  not  ceased  transmitting 
her  at  stated  times,  and  I  am  of  opinion  he  often  carried  her 
presents  from  the  Marchioness  ;  so  she  could  not  be  much  to 
be  pitied,  though  she  kept  eternally  complaining.    With  respect 


308  Rousseau's  confessions. 

to  Grimm,  as  I  am  not  fond  of  speaking  of  persons  I  ought 
to  hate,  I  never  mentioned  his  name  to  Madam  de  Luxem- 
bourg except  when  I  could  not  help  it  ;  but  she  frequently 
made  him  the  subject  of  conversation,  without  telling  me 
what  she  thought  of  the  man,  or  letting  me  discover  whether 
or  not  she  was  acquainted  with  him.  Reserve  with  people  I 
love,  and  who  are  open  with  me,  being  contrary  to  my 
nature,  especially  in  matters  relating  to  themselves,  I  have 
since  that  time  frequently  thought  of  Madam  de  Luxem- 
bourg's reticence,  but  never  except  when  other  events  rendered 
the  reflection  natural. 

Having  waited  a  long  time  without  hearing  aught  of  the 
J5m/e  after  giving  it  to  Madam  de  Luxembourg,  I  at  last  heard 
that  the  agreement  was  made  at  Paris  with  Duchesne  the 
publisher,  and  by  him  with  Neaulme  of  Amsterdam.  Madam 
sent  me  the  original  and  the  duplicate  of  the  agreement  with 
Duchesne  that  I  might  sign  them.  I  discovered  the  writing 
to  be  in  the  same  hand  as  that  of  the  letters  of  M.  de  Males- 
herbes,  he  not  being  in  the  habit  of  writing  himself.  This 
assurance  that  the  agreement  was  being  made  by  the  consent 
and  under  the  eye  of  the  magistrate,  made  me  sign  Mathout 
hesitation.  Duchesne  gave  me  six  thousand  Uvres  for  the 
manuscript,  half  in  cash  down,  and,  I  think,  a  hundred  or 
two  copies  of  the  work.  After  having  signed  the  two  parts, 
I  sent  them  both  to  Madam  de  Luxembourg,  according  to 
her  desire  :  she  gave  one  to  Duchesne,  and  instead  of  return- 
ing the  other,  kept  it  herself,  so  that  I  never  saw  it 
afterwards. 

Though  my  acquaintance  with  M.  and  Mme.  de  Luxem- 
bourg had  somewhat  diverted  me  from  my  plan  of  retirement, 
yet  it  did  not  make  me  entirely  renounce  it.  Even  at  the 
height  of  my  favor  with  the  Marchioness,  I  always  felt  that 
notliing  but  my  sincere  attachment  to  the  Marshal  and  her- 
self could  render  the  people  with  whom  they  were  connected 
endural)le  ;  and  my  whole  difficulty  was  in  conciliating  this 
attachment  with  a  manner  of  life  more  agreeable  to  my  in- 
clination, and  less  contrary  to  my  health,  which  constraint 
and  late  suppers  contiiuially  deranged,  notwithstanding  all 
the  care  taken  to  prevent  it :  for  in  this,  as  in  every  thing 
else,  attention  was  carried  to  the  utmost.  For  instance,  every 
evening,  after  supper,  the  Marshal,  whose  habit  it  was  to  re- 


PKRIOD  II.    BOOK  XI.       1761.     '  309 

tire  early,  never  failed,  notwithstanding  all  I  could  say  to  the 
contrary,  to  make  me  withdraw  at  the  same  time.  It  was 
not  till  some  little  time  before  my  catastrophe  that,  for  what 
reason  I  kuow  not,  he  ceased  paying  me  this  attention. 

Even  before  I  perceived  the  coolness  of  the  Marchioness, 
I  was  desirous,  so  as  not  to  expose  myself  thereto,  to  carry 
out  my  old  plan  ;  but  not  having  the  means  to  do  so,  I  was 
obliged  to  wait  for  the  conclusion  of  the  agreement  for  the 
'  Eniih,^  and  in  the  meantime  I  finished  the  '  Social-Contract,' 
and  sent  it  to  Rey,  fixmg  the  price  of  the  manuscript  at  a 
thousand  francs,  which  he  gave  me.  There  is  a  little  matter 
connected  with  this  manuscript  that  I  ought  not  perhaps  to 
omit.  I  gave  it,  carefully  sealed  up,  to  Du  Voisin,  a  minis- 
ter in  the  Pays  du  Vaud,  and  chaplain  of  the  Hotel  de  Hol- 
lande,  who  sometimes  came  to  see  me,  and  who  took  upon 
himself  to  send  the  packet  to  Rey,  with  whom  he  was  con- 
nected. The  manuscript,  written  in  fine-hand,  was  a  little  bit 
of  an  afifau-,  and  did  not  fill  his  pocket.  In  passing  the  bar- 
riere,  however,  it  fell,  by  what  means  I  know  not,  into  the 
hands  of  the  Commissioners  of  Customs,  who  opened  and  ex- 
amined it,  and  afterwards  returned  it  to  him  on  his  reclaiming 
it  in  the  name  of  the  ambassador.  This  gave  him  an  oppor- 
tunity of  reading  it  hmiself,  which  he  very  naively  wrote 
me  he  had  done,  speakmg  highly  of  the  work,  without  suffer- 
ing a  word  of  criticism  or  censure  to  escape  him,  undoubt- 
edly reserving  to  himself  to  become  the  avenger  of  Chris- 
tianity as  soon  as  the  work  should  appear.  He  re-sealed  the 
packet  and  sent  it  to  Rey.  Such  is  the  substance  of  his  nar- 
rative, in  the  letter  he  wrote  me,  giving  an  account  of  the 
affair,  and  is  all  I  know  of  the  matter. 

Besides  these  two  books  and  my  '  Musical  Dictionary,'  at 
which  I  still  did  a  Uttle  as  opportunity  presented,  I  had 
several  other  works  of  minor  importance  all  ready  to  make 
then-  appearance,  and  which  I  proposed  to  publish  either 
separately  or  in  the  edition  of  my  Collected  Works,  should 
I  ever  undertake  it.  The  chief  of  these,  most  of  which  are 
still  in  manuscript  in  the  hands  of  Du  Peyrou  was  an  '  Essay 
on  the  Origm  of  Languages'  {Essai  sur  V origine  des  Ian- 
giies),  which  I  had  read  to  M.  de  Malesherbes  and  the  Chev- 
aUer  de  Lorenzy,  who  spoke  well  of  it.  I  counted  that  these 
various  productions  together  would  produce  me  a  net  capital 


310  Rousseau's  confessions. 

of  from  eight  to  ten  thousand  livres  which  I  intended  putting 
out  as  a  Ufe-aunuity  settled  as  well  on  Therese  as  on  myself; 
after  which,  our  design  was,  as  I  have  already  mentioned,  to 
go  and  hve  together,  in  the  interior  of  some  of  the  Provinces, 
■without  farther  troubling  the  pubUc  about  me,  or  myself  with 
any  other  project  than  that  of  peacefully  ending  my  days, 
meanwhile  continuing  to  do  all  the  good  I  could  in  my  neigh- 
borhood and  to  employ  my  leisure  in  writing  the  Memoirs  I 
was  meditating. 

Such  was  my  intention,  and  the  execution  of  it  was  facili- 
tated by  an  act  of  generosity  on  Key's  part,  that  I  cannot 
pass  over  in  silence.  This  publisher,  of  whom  so  many  hard 
things  were  told  me  in  Paris  is,  notwithstanding,  the  only 
one  with  whom  I  have  always  had  reason  to  be  satisfied.  * 
True,  we  frequently  disagreed  as  to  the  execution  of  my 
works  ;  he  was  heedless  and  I  choleric.  But  in  matters  of 
interest,  and  proceedings  relative  thereto,  although  I  never 
made  any  formal  agreement  with  him,  I  always  found  him 
upright  and  exact  to  a  degree.  I  may  mention,  too,  that 
he  is  the  only  person  of  the  trade  that  ever  frankly  confessed 
to  me  that  he  made  largely  by  my  works  ;  and  often,  when 
offering  me  a  part  of  his  fortune,  he  would  tell  me  I  was  the 
author  of  it  all.  Not  finding  the  means  of  exercising  his 
gratitude  directly  on  myself,  he  wished  at  least  to  give  me 
proofs  of  it  in  the  person  of  my  '  Gouvcrnantc, '  upon  whom  he 
settled  an  annuity  of  three  hundred  livres,  declaring  in  the 
deed  that  it  was  in  acknowledgment  of  the  advantages  I  had 
procured  him.  This  he  did  between  himself  and  me  without 
ostentation,  pretension  or  fuss,  and  had  not  I  made  it  public 
myself,  not  a  smgle  person  would  ever  have  kno^^m  anything 
of  the  matter.  I  was  so  touched  at  this  act  that  henceforth 
I  became  deeply  attached  to  Rey,  and  conceived  a  real  friend- 
ship for  him.  Sometime  afterwards  he  desired  me  to  become 
god-father  to  one  of  bis  children.  I  consented  ;  and  a  part 
of  my  regret  in  the  situation  to  which  my  enemies  have  re- 
duced me.  Is  my  being  deprived  of  the  means  of  rendering 
my  attachment  to  my  god-daughter  useful  to  her  and  her 
parents.     Why  am  I,  who   am   so  sensible  to  the  modest 

*  When  writing  this,  I  was  very  far  from  imagining,  conceiving  or 
believing  the  frauds  I  afterwards  discovered  in  the  printing  of  my 
writings,  and  which  he  was  forced  to  connive  at. 


PERIOD  II. .   BOOK  XI.       1761.  311 

generosity  of  this  bookseller,  so  indifferent  to  the  noisy  eager- 
ness of  many  persons  of  uppertendom,  who  pompously  fill  the 
universe  with  accounts  of  the  services  they  say  they  •nished 
to  render  me,  but  of  which  I  never  saw  the  first  sign  ?  Is 
it  their  fault  or  mine  ?  Are  they  but  vain  ;  is  my  insensi- 
bility purely  ingratitude  ?  Intelligent  reader,  weigh  and 
determine  ;  for  my  part,  I  say  no  more. 

This  pension  was  quite  a  help  to  Ther^se,  and  a  consider- 
able rehef  to  me  ;  although,  mdeed,  I  was  far  from  receiving 
any  dii'ect  advantage  from  it,  any  more  than  from  the  other 
presents  that  were  made  her.  She  has  always  done  what 
she  liked  with  all  she  got.  When  I  kept  her  money  I  gave 
her  a  faithful  account  of  it,  without  ever  using  a  cent  of  it 
for  our  common  expenses,  not  even  when  she  was  richer  than 
myself.  '  W/iat's  mine  is  oxirh^  said  I  to  her,  '  and  wliat  is 
thine  is  thine  ; '  This  principle  I  used  often  to  repeat  to  her 
and  I  never  departed  from  it.  They  who  have  had  the  base- 
ness to  accuse  me  of  receiving  through  her  hands  what  I  re- 
fused to  take  directly,  undoubtedly  judged  me  by  themselves, 
and  knew  naught  of  my  nature.  I  would  willingly  eat  with 
her  the  bread  she  earned,  but  not  what  was  given  her. 
For  proof  of  this  I  appeal  to  herself,  both  now  and  when,  in 
the  course  of  nature,  she  shall  have  survived  me.  Unfortu- 
nately, she  understands  but  little  of  economy  in  any  way, 
and  is  besides  careless  and  extravagant,  not  from  vanity  nor 
gluttony,  but  solely  from  negligence.  Xo  creature  is  perfect 
here  below,  and  since  her  excellent  qualities  must  be  accom- 
panied by  some  drawbacks,  I  prefer  she  should  have  faults 
of  this  kind  rather  than  organic  vices,  though  certainly  these 
defects  are  more  prejudicial  to  us  both  than  more  serious 
sins  would  be.  The  efforts  I  made,  as  formerly  I  did  for 
Maman,  to  accumulate  something  in  advance  which  might 
one  day  be  something  for  her  to  fall  back  upon,  are  not  to 
be  conceived  ;  but  my  cares  were  ever  ineffectual.  Is  either 
of  these  women  ever  called  herself  to  account  ;  and  spite 
of  all  my  efforts,  everything  I  acquired  was  dissipated  as  fast 
as  it  came.  Notwithstanding  the  great  simplicity  of  The- 
rese's  dress,  Rey's  pension  has  never  sufficed  to  buy  her 
clothes,  and  I  hare  every  year  been  under  the  necessity  of 
addmg  something  to  it  for  that  purpose.     We  are  neither 


312  Rousseau's  confessions. 

of  us  born  to  be  rich — a  fate  I  certainly  do  not  reckon  among 
our  misfortunes. 

The 'Social-Contract'  was  advancing  rapidly  towards 
completion.  Not  so  was  it  with  the  Emik,  for  the  publica- 
tion of  which  I  was  waiting  in  order  to  betake  me  to  the 
retirement  I  was  meditating.  Duchesne,  from  time  to 
time,  sent  me  specimens  of  impressions  to  choose  from  ; 
when  I  had  made  my  choice,  instead  of  going  on,  he  would 
send  me  others.  When  at  length  we  were  fully  determined 
on  the  form  and  type,  and  several  sheets  were  already 
struck  off,  on  some  trifling  alteration  I  made  in  a  proof,  he 
began  the  whole  again,  and  at  the  end  of  six  months  we 
were  in  a  state  of  less  forwardness  than  on  the  first  day. 
During  all  these  experiments,  I  clearly  perceived  the  work 
was  printing  in  France  as  well  as  in  Holland,  and  that 
two  editions  of  it  were  preparing  at  the  same  time.  What 
was  I  to  do  ?  I  was  no  longer  master  of  my  manuscript. 
Not  only  had  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  French  edition, 
I  was  always  against  it ;  but  since  this  was  preparing  iu 
spite  of  all  opposition,  and  was  to  serve  as  a  model  for  the 
other,  it  was  necessary  I  should  cast  my  eyes  over  it,  and 
examine  the  proofs,  that  my  work  might  not  be  mutilated. 
Besides,  so  entirely  with  the  knowledge  and  consent  of  the 
magistrate,  was  the  work  being  printed  that  it  was  he  who, 
in  some  measure,  directed  the  undertaking  ;  he  likewise 
wrote  to  me  frequently,  and  once  came  to  see  me  concern- 
ing it,  on  an  occasion  I  shall  presently  speak  of. 

Whilst  Duchesne  crept  along  at  snail's  pace,  Neaulme, 
whom  he  held  back,  scarce  moved  at  all.  The  sheets  were 
not  regularly  sent  him  as  they  were  printed.  He  thought 
he  discovered  bad  faith  in  Duchesne's  dodgery,  or  rather 
Guy's,  he  acting  for  him  ;  and  perceiving  the  terms  of  the 
agreement  to  be  departed  from,  he  wrote  me  letter  after 
letter  full  of  complaints  and  grievances,  which  I  could  do 
less  to  remedy  than  those  I  had  myself  to  put  up  with. 
His  friend  Guerin,  who  at  that  time  came  frequently  to  see 
me,  never  ceased  speaking  to  me  about  the  work,  but  al- 
ways with  the  greatest  reserve.  He  knew,  and  he  did  not 
know,  that  it  was  being  printed  iu  France,  and  that  the 
magistrate  had  a  hand  in  it.  In  expressing  his  concern 
for  the  embarrassment  the  book  was  going  to  give  me,  he 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  XI.       1161.  313 

seemed  to  accuse  me  of  imprudence,  without  ever  saying 
wherein  it  consisted  ;  he  kept  up  an  eternal  dodging  and 
shuffling,  and  seemed  to  speak  for  no  other  purpose  than  to 
get  me  to  speak.  I  thought  myself  so  secure  that  I 
laughed  at  the  mystery  and  circumspection  he  put  into  the 
matter  as  a  habit  he  had  contracted  with  ministers  and 
magistrates  whose  bureaux  he  was  in  the  habit  of  frequent- 
ing a  good  deal.  Certain  of  having  conformed  to  every 
rule  regarding  the  work,  and  firmly  persuaded  that  I  not 
only  had  the  consent  and  protection  of  the  magistrate,  but 
that  the  book  merited  and  had  obtained  the  favor  of  the 
ministry,  I  was  congratulating  myself  upon  my  courage  in 
well-doing,  and  laughing  at  my  pusillanimous  friends  who 
seemed  uneasy  on  my  account.  Duclos  was  among  the 
number,  and  I  confess,  my  confidence  in  his  understanding 
and  uprightness  might  have  alarmed  me,  had  I  been  less 
sure  of  the  utility  of  the  work,  and  the  probity  of  its  pa- 
trons. He  came  from  M.  Bailie's  to  see  me  whilst  the 
'Emile^  was  in  press,  and  spoke  to  me  concerning  it.  I  read 
him  the  '  Savoyard  Vicar's  Profession  of  Faith.'  He  lis- 
tened attentively,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  me  with  pleasure. 
When  I  had  finished,  he  said  :  'What,  Citizen,  and  this 
is  part  of  a  work  now  j^rinting  in  Paris?'  'Yes',  answered 
I,  '  and  it  ought  to  be  printed  at  the  Louvre  by  order  of 
the  king.'  '  I  grant  you',  replied  he,  '  but  do  me  the  fa- 
vor, I  pray  you,  not  to  mention  to  anybody  that  you  have 
read  me  this  fragment.'  This  striking  manner  of  expressing 
himself  surprised,  without  alarming  me.  I  knew  Duclos 
was  intimate  with  M.  de  Malesherbes,  and  I  could  not  con- 
ceive how  it  was  possible  he  should  think  so  diiferently 
from  him  upon  the  same  subject. 

I  had  lived  at  Montmorency  for  the  last  four  years 
without  ever  having  enjoyed  a  day's  good  health.  Al- 
though it  is  favored  with  excellent  air,  the  water  is  bad, 
and  this  may  be  one  of  the  causes  which  contributed  to 
increase  my  complaint.  Towards  the  end  of  the  autumn 
of  1761,  I  fell  quite  ill,  and  passed  the  whole  winter  in  al- 
most uninterrupted  suffering.  My  bodily  malady,  aggra- 
vated by  a  thousand  mental  disquietudes,  rendered  my 
afflictions  terrible.  For  some  time  past,  my  mind  had  been 
disturbed  by  melancholy  forebodings  without  my  knowing 
II.  14 


314  Rousseau's  confessions. 

to  what  these  pointed.  I  received  anonymous  letters  of  aa 
extraordinary  nature,  and  others  that  were  signed,  much 
of  the  same  import.  I  received  one  from  a  Counsellor  of 
the  parliament  of  Paris,  who,  dissatisfied  with  the  present 
state  of  things,  and  auguring  unfavorably  for  the  future, 
consulted  me  upon  the  choice  of  au  asylum  at  Geneva  or 
in  Switzerland,  to  retire  to  with  his  family.  Another  was 
brought  me  from  M.  de ,  President  a  mortier  of  the  par- 
liament of ,  who  proposed   to  me   to   draw  up  for  this 

parliament,  then  at  variance  with  the  court,  memorials  and 
remonstrances,  and  offering  to  furnish  me  with  all  the 
documents  and  materials  necessary.  When  I  suffer,  I  am 
subject  to  ill  humor.  This  was  the  case  when  I  received 
these  letters,  and  my  answers  to  them,  in  which  I  flatly  re- 
fused everything  that  was  asked  of  me,  bore  strong  marks 
of  the  effect  it  had  had  upon  my  mind.  I  do  not,  however, 
reproach  myself  with  this  refusal,  as  the  letters  may  have 
been  just  so  many  snares  laid  by  my  enemies,*  and  what 
was  required  of  me  was  contrary  to  the  principles  from 
which  I  was  less  willing  than  ever  to  swerve.  But  having 
it  in  my  power  to  refuse  with  politeness,  I  did  it  with  bru- 
tality ;  and  there  lies  my  mistake. 

The  tv/o  letters  of  which  I  have  just  spoken  will  be  found 
amongst  my  papers.  The  Counsellor's  epistle  did  not 
absolutely  surprise  me,  because  I  agreed  with  him  and  many 
others  in  the  opinion  that  the  declining  constitution  of  the 
France  monarchy  threatened  approaching  dissolution.  The 
disasters  of  an  unsuccessful  war,"]"  all  of  which  was  the 
fault  of  the  Government  ;  the  incredible  confusion  in  the 
finances  ;  the  perpetual  drainings  of  the  treasury  by  the 
administration,  then  divided  between  two  or  three  ministers, 
amongst  whom  reigned  nothing  but  discord,  and  who  to 
counteract  each  others'  operations,  let  the  kingdom  go  to 
ruin  ;  the  general  discontent  of  the  common  people  and  all 
classes,  the  obstinacy  of  a  woman  who,  constantly  sacrifi- 
cing her  judgment,  if  she  indeed  possessed  any,  to  her 
inclinations,  kept  from  public  employments  persons  capable 
of  discharging  the  duties  of  them,   to  give  them  to  such 

*   I  knew,  for  instance,  that  President ....  was  in  close  alliance  with 
the  Encyclopaidists  and  Holbachians. 
\  The  seven  years  war.     Tr. 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  XI.      1161.  315 

as  pleased  her  best — all  concnrred  to  justify  the  foreboding 
of  the  Counsellor,  the  public,  and  myself.  This  made  me 
several  times  consider  whether  or  not  I  myself  should  not 
seek  an  asylum  out  of  the  kingdom,  before  it  came  to  be 
rent  by  the  dissensions  that  threatened  it  ;  but,  relieved 
from  my  fears  by  my  insignificance  and  the  peacefulness  of 
my  disposition,  I  thought  that  in  the  solitude  to  which  I 
was  about  to  retire,  no  storm  could  possibly  reach  me.  I 
was  only  sorry  that,  in  this  state  of  things  M.  de  Luxem- 
bourg should  fall  in  with  a  course  of  policy  tending  so 
inevitably  to  bring  down  on  him  the  odium  of  those  under 
his  authority.  I  could  have  wished  he  had  at  all  events, 
prepared  himself  a  retreat,  in  case  the  huge  fabric  should 
fall  to  pieces — a  consummation  that  seemed  very  much  to  be 
apprehended  ;  and  it  still  appears  to  me  beyond  a  doubt 
that  if  the  reins  of  government  had  not  fallen  into  a  single 
hand,  the  French  monarchy  would  now  have  been  at  the  last 
gasp.* 

Whilst  my  situation  was  growing  worse  and  worse,  the 
printing  of  the  Emile  went  on  slower  and  slower,  and  was 
at  length  suspended  altogether,  without  my  being  able  to 
learn  why.  Guy  did  not  deign  to  answer  my  letter  of  in- 
quiry, and  I  could  obtain  no  information  from  any  person  of 
what  was  going  forward,  M.  de  Malesherbes  being  then  in 
the  country.  No  misfortune,  be  it  what  it  may,  ever  makes 
me  uneasy  or  casts  me  down,  provided  I  know  in  what  it 
consists  ;  but  it  is  my  nature  to  be  afraid  of  darkness  :  I 
hate  and  fear  its  black  aspect ;  mystery  always  puts  me  on 
thorns  :  it  is  too  contrary  to  my  natural  disposition,  charac- 
terized by  an  openness  bordering  on  imprudence.  The 
sight  of  the  most  hideous  monster  would,  I  guess,  alarm 
me  but  little  ;  but  if  I  saw  a  figure  in  a  white  sheet  at 
night,  it  would  scare  me.  My  imagination,  wrought  upon 
by  this  long  silence,  was  now  busy  creating  phantoms. 
The  more  I  had  at  heart  the  publication  of  this  my  last 
and  best  work,  the  more  I  tormented  myself  endeavoring 
to  discover  what  could  impede  it  ;  and  as  I  always  carry 
everything  to  extremes,  I  imagined  that  I  perceived  in  the 
suspension,  the  suppression  of  the  work.  Yet,  being  un- 
able to  discover  either  the  cause  or  manner  of  it,  I  remained 

*  The  '  last  gasp  '  was  not  so  very  far  off.     Tr. 


316  Rousseau's  confessions. 

in  the  most  tormenting  suspense.  I  wrote  letter  after  letter 
to  (jruy,  to  M.  de  Malesherbes  and  Madam  de  Luxem- 
bourg, and  not  receiving  answers,  at  least  when  I  expected 
them,  my  liead  became  so  affected  that  I  was  not  far  from 
delirium.  Unfortunately,  I  beard  that  Father  Griflfit,  a 
Jesuit,  had  spoken  of  the  Emile  and  repeated  certain  passages 
from  it.  Instantly  my  imagination  sped  like  a  lightening- 
flash  and  unveiled  to  me  the  mystery  of  iniquity  :  I  saw 
the  whole  of  it  step  after  step  just  as  clearly  as  though  it 
had  been  revealed  to  me.  I  conceived  that  the  Jesuits, 
furious  at  the  contempt  with  which  I  had  spoken  of  colleges, 
had  got  hold  of  my  work  ;  that  it  was  they  who  were 
delaying  the  publication  ;  that,  informed  by  their  friend 
Guerin  of  my  situation,  and  forseeing  my  approaching  dis- 
solution— whereof  I  had  myself  no  manner  of  doubt — they 
wished  to  put  off  the  appearance  of  the  work  until  after 
that  event,  with  the  intention  of  curtailing,  and  mutilat- 
ing it,  and  attributing  to  me  sentiments  favorable  to  their 
views.  The  number  of  facts  and  circumstances  that  occur- 
red to  my  mind  in  confirmation  of  this  silly  supposition, 
giving  it  an  appearance  of  probability — nay,  supporting  it 
with  the  most  absolute  evidence  and  demonstration,  is 
astonishing.  I  knew  Guerin  to  be  entirely  in  the  interest 
of  the  Jesuits.  I  set  down  all  the  friendly  advances  he  had 
made  me  to  their  account ;  I  was  persuaded  he  had,  by 
their  entreaties,  pressed  me  to  engage  Neaulme,  who  had 
given  them  the  first  sheets  of  my  work  ;  that  they  had 
afterwards  found  means  to  stop  the  printing  of  it  by 
Duchesne,  and  perhaps  to  get  possession  of  the  manuscript 
so  as  to  make  such  alterations  in  it  as  they  should  think 
proper,  that  after  my  death  they  might  publish  it  travestied 
after  tlieir  fashion.  I  had  always  perceived,  notwithstand- 
ing the  wheedling  of  Father  Berthier,  that  the  Jesuits  did 
not  like  me — not  only  as  an  Encylopsedist,  but  because  all 
my  principles  were  more  in  opposition  to  their  maxims  and  in- 
fluence that  the  incredulity  of  my  colleagues,  since  atheistic 
fanaticism  and  devout  fanaticism,  approaching  each  other 
by  their  common  enmity  to  toleration,  may  even  become 
united  ;  a  proof  of  which  is  seen  in  China,  and  in  the 
cabal  against  myself  :  whereas  religion,  both  reasonable  and 
moral,  taking  away  all  human  power  over  the  conscience^ 


PERIOD  n.    BOOK  XI.      1761.  31*1 

deprives  those  who  assume  that  power  of  every  resource.  I 
knew  the  Chancellor  was  also  a  great  friend  to  the  Jesuits, 
and  I  had  my  fears  lest  the  son,  intimidated  by  the  father, 
should  find  himself  under  the  necessity  of  abandoning  the 
work  he  had  protected.  I  even  imagined  I  perceived  this  to 
be  the  case  in  the  quirks  and  pettifoggery  they  were  begin- 
ning to  get  up  against  me  relative  to  the  two  first  volumes,  in 
which  alterations  were  required  for  reasons  the  force  where- 
of I  could  not  feel ;  whilst  the  two  other  volumes  were 
known  to  be  filled  with  such  strong  things  that  had  the 
censor  objected  to  them  in  the  manner  be  did  to  the 
passages  he  thought  objectionable  in  the  others,  it  would 
have  been  necessary  to  recast  the  whole  work  over  again. 
I  also  understood,  and  M.  de  Malesherbes  himself  told  me 
of  it,  that  the  Abbe  de  Grave,  whom  he  had  charged  with 
the  inspection  of  this  edition,  was  another  partisan  of  the 
Jesuits.  I  saw  nothing  but  Jesuits,  Jesuits,  Jesuits,  with- 
out considering  that,  upon  the  point  of  being  suppressed, 
and  wholly  taken  up  in  making  their  defence,  they  had 
something  that  interested  them  much  more  than  caviling 
touching  a  work  that  did  not  concern  them.  I  am  wrong, 
however,  in  saying  that  this  did  not  occur  to  me  ;  for  I  did 
think  of  it,  and  M.  de  Malesherbes  took  care  to  make  the 
observation  to  me  the  moment  he  heard  of  my  extravagant 
suspicions.  But  by  another  of  those  absurdities  of  mine, 
bent  on  judging  from  my  solitude  and  retirement  of 
the  secret  of  great  affairs,  with  which  I  was  totally  unac- 
quainted, I  never  could  bring  myself  to  believe  the  Jesuits 
were  in  danger,  and  I  considered  the  rumor  of  their  sup- 
pression as  an  artful  dodge  of  their  own,  got  up  to  deceive 
their  adversaries.  Their  past  successes,  which  had  been 
uninterrupted,  gave  me  so  terrible  an  idea  of  their  power, 
that  I  was  already  grieved  at  the  tottering  authority  of  the 
parliament.  I  knew  M.  de  Choiseul  had  prosecuted  his 
studies  under  the  Jesuits,  that  Madam  de  Pompadour  was 
not  upon  bad  terms  with  them,  and  that  their  league  with 
favorites  and  ministers  had  constantly  turned  out  advanta- 
geous to  both  loarties  against  their  common  enemies.  Tlie 
court  seemed  to  remain  neutral  ;  and,  persuaded  as  I  was 
that  should  the  society  at  some  future  day  receive  a  severe 
check,  it  would  not  come  from  Parliament,   I  saw  in  the 


318  Rousseau's  confessions. 

inaction  of  government  the  ground  of  their  confidence  and 
the  omen  of  their  triumph.  In  fine,  perceiving  in  the 
various  rumors  of  the  day  nothing  but  an  additional  piece 
of  artifice  of  theirs,  and  thinking  they  had,  in  their  security, 
time  enough  to  watch  over  everything,  I  had  not  the  least 
doubt  of  their  shortly  crushing  Jansenism,  Parliament,  and 
the  Encyclopagdists,  with  everybody  that  would  not  submit 
to  their  yoke  ;  and  that  if  they  ever  suffered  my  work  to 
appear,  it  would  not  be  until  they  had  so  transformed  it  as 
to  favor  their  pretensions,  and  thus  make  use  of  my  name 
to  deceive  my  readers. 

I  felt  that  I  was  dying  ;  and  I  wonder  how  in  the 
world  it  was  that  the  morbid  engenderings  of  my  brain 
did  not  finish  me  quite,  so  horrified  was  I  at  the  idea  of 
ray  memory's  being  dishonored  in  this  my  best  and  worthi- 
est work.  Never  was  I  so  much  afraid  of  death,  and  had 
I  died  under  the  circumstances,  I  believe  I  should  have 
died  in  despair.  Even  now,  although  I  perceive  the  black- 
est and  foulest  plot  ever  formed  against  the  memory  of 
man  stalking  unstopped — not  to  be  stopped — to  its  exe- 
cution, I  shall  die  much  more  tranquilly,  certain  of  leaving 
in  my  writings  a  testimony  of  me  that  will  sooner  or  later 
triumph  over  the  calumnies  of  men. 

(1762.)  M.  de  Malesherbes,  the  confidential  witness 
of  my  terrible  agitation,  used  such  endeavors  to  restore  me 
to  tranquillity  as  proved  his  exceeding  goodness  of  heart. 
Madam  de  Luxembourg  aided  him  in  this  good  work,  and 
went  several  times  to  Duchesne  to  know  how  the  edition 
was  getting  along.  At  length  the  printing  was  begun 
again,  and  went  on  more  rapidly,  without  my  ever  knowing 
for  what  reason  it  had  been  suspended.  M.  de  Males- 
herbes took  the  trouble  to  come  to  Montmorency  to  calm 
my  mind.  In  this  he  succeeded  ;  and  the  perfect  confidence 
I  had  in  his  uprightness  having  overcome  the  forebodings 
of  my  poor  head,  gave  efficacy  to  the  endeavors  he  made 
to  restore  it.  After  what  he  had  seen  of  my  anguish  and 
delirium,  it  was  natural  he  should  think  me  much  to  be 
pitied  ;  and  he  really  commiserated  ray  situation.  Tlie 
eternally  repeated  cantiiigs  of  the  philosophical  cabal  by 
which  he  was  surrounded,  occurred  to  his  mind.  When  I 
went  to  live  at  the  Hermitage,  as  I  have  said,  they  pre- 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  XI.       1162.  319 

dieted  I  would  not  stay  there  long.  "When  they  saw  me 
hold  out,  they  would  have  it  that  1  did  it  through  obsti- 
nacy— pride — want  of  courage  to  retract,  and  insisted  that 
my  life  was  a  perfect  burden  to  me  out  there,  and  that  I 
led  the  most  wretched  life  imaginable.  M.  de  Malesherbes 
believed  this  was  really  the  case,  and  wrote  me  upon  the 
subject.  This  error  in  a  man  for  whom  I  had  so  much  es- 
teem gave  me  pain,  and  I  wrote  him  four  letters  succes- 
sively, in  which  I  stated  the  real  motives  of  my  conduct, 
and  let  him  fully  into  my  tastes,  inclinations  and  character, 
and  the  most  private  sentiments  of  my  heart.  These 
four  letters,  written  almost  without  taking  pen  from  paper, 
and  which  I  neither  copied,  corrected,  nor  even  read  over, 
are  perhaps  the  only  things  I  ever  in  all  my  life  wrote  with 
facility — written,  too — and  this  is  the  astonishing  part  of 
it — in  the  midst  of  the  fearful  suffering  and  dejection  in 
which  I  was  then  plunged.  I  sighed,  as  I  felt  life  ebbing 
away,  at  the  thought  of  leaving  in  the  miuds  of  honest 
men  an  opinion  of  me  so  far  from  the  truth  ;  and  in  the 
hasty  sketch  given  in  these  four  letters  I  endeavored  in 
some  measure,  to  supply  the  place  of  the  Memoirs  I  had 
proposed  to  write.  These  letters,  with  which  M.  de  Males- 
herbes was  highly  pleased,  and  which  he  showed  to  various 
persons  in  Paris  are  a  sort  of  summary  of  what  I  here 
develop  in  detail,  and  on  this  account  merit  preservation. 
The  copy  of  them  he  had  made  at  my  request,  and  which 
he  sent  me  several  years  afterwards  will  be  found  amongst 
my  papers. 

The  only  further  thing  that  afflicted  me  in  the  anticipa- 
tion of  my  approaching  death  was  my  not  having  any  man 
of  letters  for  a  friend,  to  whom  I  could  confide  my  papers, 
that  after  my  death  he  might  make  a  proper  choice  of  such 
as  were  worthy  of  publication.  After  my  journey  to  Ge- 
neva, I  had  formed  a  close  friendship  for  Moultou.  I  liked 
this  young  man,  and  could  have  wished  him  to  come  and 
close  my  eyes.  I  expressed  this  desire  to  him,  and  am  of 
opinion  he  would  have  readily  complied  therewith,  had  not 
his  affairs  prevented  him  from  so  doing.  Deprived  of  this 
consolation,  I  still  wished  to  give  him  a  mark  of  my  con- 
fidence by  sending  him  the  Savoyard  Vicar's  Profession  of 
Faith  before  it  was  published.     He  was  pleased  with  the 


320  Rousseau's  confessions. 

work,  but  did  not  in  his  answer  seem  to  share  the  security 
I  then  felt  as  to  its  effect.  He  wished  me  to  give  him 
some  fragment  I  had  not  given  anybody  else.  I  sent  him 
the  'Funeral  Oration  on  the  Late  Duke  of  Orleans/  which 
I  had  written  for  the  Abbe  Darty,  but  which  he  had  not 
pronounced,  as,  contrary  to  his  expectation,  another  person 
was  appointed  to  perform  that  ceremony. 

Tlie  printing  of  the  '  Emile,'  being  again  taken  up, 
went  on  and  was  completed  quietly  enough.  I  could  not 
help  noticing  this  curious  circumstance  in  the  matter,  that 
after  the  expurgations  so  sternly  insisted  upon  in  the  first 
two  volumes,  the  last  two  were  allowed  to  pass  without 
anything's  being  said,  and  their  contents  did  not  delay  the 
publication  for  a  moment.  I  had,  however,  some  uneasi- 
ness from  another  quarter,  which  I  must  not  pass  over  in 
silence.  After  having  been  afraid  of  the  Jesuits,  I  began 
to  fear  the  Jansenists  and  philosophers.  An  enemy  to  all 
you  call  party,  faction,  cabal,  I  never  heard  the  least  good 
of  persons  that  had  anything  to  do  with  them.  The 
'  Gossips  '  had  for  some  time  back  quitted  their  old  abode, 
and  taken  up  their  residence  by  the  side  of  me,  so  that 
from  their  chamber,  everything  said  in  mine  and  upon  my 
terrace  was  distinctly  heard  ;  and  it  would  have  been  very 
easy  to  scale  the  low  wall  separating  the  garden  from  my 
turret.  This  I  had  made  my  study,  so  my  table  was  covered 
with  proof-sheets  of  the  'Emile.^  and  the  'Social  Contract;' 
and,  stitching  together  these  sheets  as  they  were  sent  me,  I 
had  all  my  volumes  a  long  time  before  they  were  published. 
My  negligence  and  the  confidence  I  had  ia  M.  Mathas,  in 
whose  garden  1  was  shut  up,  frequently  made  me  forget  to 
lock  the  door  at  night,  aud  in  the  morning  I  several  times 
found  it  wide  open.  This,  however,  would  not  have  given 
me  the  least  uneasiness,  had  not  I  observed  that  my  papers 
had  been  deranged.  After  having  several  times  noticed 
the  same  thing,  I  became  more  careful  to  lock  the  door. 
The  lock  was  a  bad  one,  the  key  turning  only  half  round. 
As  I  became  more  attentive,  I  found  my  papers  in  a  still 
greater  confusion  than  they  were  when  I  left  everything 
open.  At  length  one  of  my  volumes  disappeared,  nor 
could  I  find  out  what  had  become  of  it  till  the  third  day, 
when  I  found  it  replaced  upon  my  table.     I  never  suspected 


PERIOD  11.      BOOK  XI.      1*162.  321 

either  M.  Mathas  or  his  nephew  M.  Dumoulin,  knowing 
that  they  both  loved  me,  while  my  confidence  in  them  was 
unbounded.  My  faith  in  the  '  Gossips,'  however,  was  be- 
ginning to  diminish.  Although  Jansenists,  I  knew  them  to 
have  some  connection  with  d'Alembert,  and  moreover  they 
all  three  lodged  in  the  same  house.  This  gave  me  some  un- 
easiness, and  put  me  more  upou  my  guard.  I  removed  my 
papers  from  the  turret  to  my  chamber,  and  dropped  ac- 
quaintance with  these  people,  having  learned,  besides,  that 
they  had  paraded  about  the  first  volume  of  the  'Emile^ 
which  I  had  been  imprudent  enough  to  lend  them.  Although 
they  contiimed  to  be  neighbors  of  mine  till  my  departure, 
I  never  had  anything  to  do  with  them  after  this. 

The  '  Social  Contract'  appeared  a  month  or  two  before 
the  'Emik.^  RcT'  ^vhom  I  had  desired  never  to  introduce 
any  of  my  books  surreptitiously  into  France,  applied  to  the 
magistrate  for  leave  to  transmit  this  work  by  Rouen, 
whither  he  sent  his  cases  by  sea.  He  received  no  answer, 
and  his  cases,  after  remaining  at  Rouen  several  months, 
were  returned  to  him,  but  not  until  an  attempt  had  been 
made  to  confiscate  them — a  design  which  would  in  all  like- 
lihood have  been  carried  out,  had  he  not  raised  a  tremen- 
dous clamor.  Several  persons  whose  curiosity  the  work  had 
excited,  sent  to  Amsterdam  for  copies,  which  w'ere  circu- 
lated without  exciting  much  notice.  Mauleon,  who  had 
heard  of  this,  and  had,  I  believe,  eveu  seen  something  of 
the  matter,  spoke  to  me  on  the  subject  with  an  air  of  mys- 
tery that  surprised  me,  and  would  even  have  made  me  un- 
easy, had  not  I,  certain  of  having  conformed  to  every  regu- 
lation, by  virtue  of  my  fundamental  principle  kept  my  mind 
calm.  Nay,  I  had  no  doubt  but  M.  de  Choiseul,  already 
well  disposed  towards  me,  and  sensible  of  the  eulogium  of 
his  administration  which  my  esteem  for  him  had  induced 
me  to  make  in  the  work,  would  support  me  against  the 
malevolence  of  Madam  de  Pompadour. 

I  certainly  had  as  much  reason  then  as  ever  to  count  on 
the  goodness  of  M.  de  Lirsembourg,  and  even  on  his  assist- 
ance in  case  of  need  ;  for  never  had  he  at  any  time  shown 
me  more  frequent  or  more  touching  marks  of  his  friendship. 
At  the  Easter  visit,  my  sad  state  not  permittmg  me  to  go  to 
the  chateau,  he  never  suffered  a  day  to  pass  without  coming 
II,  14* 


322  Rousseau's  confessions. 

to  see  me  ;  luul,  perceiving  at  length  that  I  got  no  relief,  he 
prevailed  upon  me  to  see  Friar  Come,  whom  he  immediately 
sent  for,  brought  him  to  me  himself,  and  had  the  courage 
(rare,  certes,  and  meritorious  in  a  great  lord),  to  remain  with 
me  during  the  operation,  which  was  trying  and  tedious  in  the 
extreme.  All  there  was  to  be  done  was  to  '  sound'  me  ;  but 
this  the  medical  men  could  never  manage,  not  even  Morand 
himself,  who  had  attempted  to  several  times,  but  always  un- 
successfully. Friar  Come,  who  had  a  hand  of  unequalled 
address  and  legerity,  at  length  succeeded  in  introducing  a 
very  small  '  algalie,'  after  putting  me  to  the  most  excruciat- 
ing torments  for  over  two  hours,  during  which  I  used  my 
utmost  endeavor  to  keep  back  my  cries  so  as  not  to  rend  the 
tender  heart  of  the  Marshal.  On  the  first  examination.  Friar 
Come  thought  he  found  a  large  stone,  and  told  me  so  ;  the 
second,  he  did  not  find  it.  After  beginning  over  again  a  sec- 
ond and  a  third  time,  with  a  care  and  exactitude  that  made 
me  think  the  time  very  long,  he  declared  there  was  no  stone, 
but  that  the  prostrate  gland  was  scirrhous  and  of  unnatural 
size,  and  ended  by  adding  that  I  had  a  great  deal  to  suffer 
and  would  live  a  long  time.  Should  the  second  prediction 
be  as  fully  accomplished  as  the  first,  my  sufferings  are  far 
from  being  at  an  end. 

Thus  was  it  I  learned,  after  having  been  so  many  years 
treated  for  disorders  which  I  never  had,  that  my  disease  was 
incurable  without  being  mortal,  and  would  last  as  long  as 
myself.  My  imagination,  calmed  and  soothed  by  this  infor- 
mation, no  longer  presented  to  me  in  perspective  a  cruel 
death  'mid  the  agonies  of  the  stone.  DeHvered  thus  from 
imaginary  evils,  more  terrible  to  me  than  real  ones,  I  bore 
the  latter  with  more  patience.  It  is  certain  I  have  smce  suf- 
fered less  from  my  disorder  than  I  had  done  before,  and  I 
never  can  recollect  that  I  owe  this  alleviation  to  M.  de 
Luxembourg,  without  melting  into  soft,  sad  pity  over  his 
memory. 

Restored,  as  I  may  say,  to  life,  and  more  than  ever  occu- 
pied with  the  plan  according  to  which  I  was  determined  to 
pass  the  rest  of  my  days,  all  the  obstacle  to  the  immediate 
execution  of  my  design  was  the  publication  of  the  '  Emile.'  I 
thought  of  Touraine,  where  I  had  already  been,  and  which 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  XI.       1162.  323 

pleased  me  much,  as  well  on  account  of  the  mildness  of  the 
climate,  as  from  the  character  of  the  inhabitants. 

La  terra  molle,  e  lieta,  e  dilettosa  : 
Simile  a  se  gli  abitator  produce.* 

I  had  already  spoken  of  my  project  to  M.  de  Luxembourg, 
who  endeavoured  to  dissuade  me  from  it.  I  mentioned  it  to 
him  a  second  time  as  a  settled  thing.  He  then  proposed 
to  me  the  chateau  de  Merlou,  some  fifteen  leagues  from 
Paris,  as  an  asylum  that  might  suit  me,  and  where  they  would 
both  be  delighted  to  have  me  take  up  my  residence.  The 
proposition  touched  me,  nor  was  it  any  ways  displeasing. 
But  the  first  thing  was  to  see  the  place,  and  we  agreed  upon 
a  day  when  the  Marshal  was  to  send  his  valet  de  chambre 
with  a  carriage  to  take  me  to  it.  On  the  day  appointed,  I 
was  quite  indisposed  ;  so  the  journey  had  to  be  postponed, 
and  various  circumstances  prevented  my  ever  going.  Having 
since  then  learned  that  the  estate  of  Merlou  did  not  belong 
to  the  Marshal,  but  to  Madam,  I  was  the  less  sorry  I  had 
not  gone. 

The  'Emik^  was  at  length  given  to  the  public,  without  my 
hearing  any  further  of  retrenchments  or  difficulties  of  any 
sort.  Previous  to  the  pubUcation,  the  Marshal  asked  me  for 
all  the  letters  M.  de  Malesherbes  had  written  me  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  work.  My  perfect  confidence  hi  both,  and  my 
profound  security,  prevented  me  from  reflecting  upon  this  ex- 
traordinary and  even  alarming  request.  I  returned  all  the 
letters,  excepting  one  or  two  which,  from  inattention  were 
left  between  the  leaves  of  a  book.  A  little  time  before  this, 
M.  de  Malesherbes  told  me  he  should  withdraw  the  letters  I 
had  written  to  Duchesne  during  my  alarm  relative  to  the 
Jesuits  ;  and  it  must  be  confessed,  these  letters  did  no  great 
nonor  to  my  reason.  But  in  my  answer,  I  assured  him  I  was 
unwilling  to  pass  in  aught  for  being  any  better  than  I  was, 
and  that  he  might  leave  the  letters  where  they  were.  What 
he  did  I  know  not. 

The  publication  of  this  work  was  not  attended  by  the 
.  applause  which  had  followed  the  appearance  of  all  my  other 
/  writings.     Never  did  work  meet  with  such  splendid  private 

i         *  Tasso.     "  An  inviting,  agreeable  country,  of  facile  culture,  with 
inhabitants  in  every  respect  resembling  itself."     Tr. 


324  Rousseau's  confessions. 

eulogy  to  have  so  small  a  meed  of  public  approbation.  What 
was  said  and  •v^Titteu  to  me  upon  the  subject  by  persons  most 
capable  of  judgiug,  confirmed  me  in  my  opinion  that  it  was 
the  best  as  well  as  the  most  important  of  all  my  productions. 
But  all  this  was  uttered  with  the  most  bizarre  pre- 
cautions, as  though  it  had  been  an  object  to  make  a  secret  of 
the  favorable  opinion  entertained  of  it.  Madam  de  Boufflers 
who  in  a  letter  she  sent  me  declared  that  the  author  of  the 
work  merited  monmnental  statues,  and  tlie  homage  of  man- 
kind, roundly  requested  me  at  the  end  of  her  note  to  send  it 
back  to  her.  D'Alembert,  who  wrote  me  that  the  work  put 
the  seal  to  my  superiority,  and  would  imdoubtedly  place  me 
at  the  head  of  men  of  letters,  did  not  sign  his  letter,  although 
he  had  signed  all  I  ever  received  from  him  before.  Duclos^ 
a  sure  friend,  and  an  upright,  though  circumspect  man,  albeit 
he  entertamed  a  high  opmion  of  the  work,  avoided  mention- 
ing it  in  his  letters  to  me.  La  Condamine  fell  upon  the  Pro- 
fession of  Faith,  and  wandered  from  the  subject.  Clairaut 
in  his  letter  confined  himself  to  the  same  thing  ;  though  he 
was  not  afraid  of  expressiug  to  me  the  emotion  the  reading 
of  it  had  stirred  within  him,  and  in  the  most  direct  terms  told 
me  that  it  had  warmed  his  old  imagination  :  of  all  the  per- 
sons to  whom  I  had  sent  my  book,  he  was  the  only  one  that 
freely  and  unreservedly  gave  utterance  to  all  the  good  he 
thought  of  it.  "'  .'       ^  ^2^  V; 

Mathas,  to  whom  I  had  also  given  a  copy  before  publica- 
tion, lent  it  to  M.  de  Blaire,  Counsellor  in  the  Parliament  of 
Strasbourg.  M.  de  Blau-  had  a  country-seat  at  St.  Gratien, 
whither  Mathas,  who  was  an  old  acquaintance  of  his,  some- 
times went  to  see  hun.  He  made  him  read  the  Emik  before  it 
was  published.  On  returning  it  to  him,  M.  de  Blaire  ex- 
pressed himself  in  the  following  terms — and  his  speech  was 
repeated  to  me  the  same  day  :  '  M.  Mathas,  this  is  a  very 
fine  work,  but  it  will  shortly  give  rise  to  more  ado  than  might 
for  the  author's  sake  be  desired.'  When  he  told  me  this,  I 
laughed  at  the  prediction,  and  saw  nothing  m  it  but  the  uu- 
portance  of  a  man  of  the  robe,  surrounding  everything  with 
his  wonted  mystery.  Not  a  whit  more  impression  did  the 
various  alarming  speeches  that  came  to  my  ears  make  on  my 
mind ;  and,  far  from  foreseeing  the  catastrophe  so  near  at 
hand,  certain  of  the  utility  and  beauty  of  my  work  ;  certain 


PERIOD  n.     BOOK  XI.    1162.  325 

that  I  was  en  regie  in  every  respect  ;  relying  implicitly,  as  I 
thought  I  might,  on  all  Madam  de  Luxembourg's  credit,  and 
certain  even  of  the  favor  of  the  ministry,  I  congratulated  myself 
on  the  resolution  I  had  taken  to  retire  in  the  midst  of  my 
triumphs,  and,  at  my  return,  crush  the  envious  crew. 

One  sole  thing  alarmed  me  in  the  publication  of  the  work, 
and  that  less  on  account  of  my  safety  than  for  the  acquittance 
of  my  heart.  At  the  Hermitage  and  at  Montmorency  I 
had  been  a  close  and  indignant  observer  of  the  vexations 
which  a  zealous  care  for  the  pleasures  of  princes  entails  on  the 
poor  peasantry,  forced  to  suffer  the  havoc  made  by  the  game  in 
their  fields  without  darmg  to  take  any  other  measures  to  pre- 
vent this  devastation  than  that  of  making  a  noise  amongst 
then-  beans  and  peas,  and  forced  to  pass  whole  nights  with 
drums,  kettles  and  bells,  trying  to  keep  off  the  wUd  boars. 
As  I  had  been  a  witness  to  the  barbarous  severity  with  which 
Count  Charolois  treated  these  poor  people,  I  had — in  a  pas- 
sage near  the  close  of  the  'Emile' — come  down  on  this  cruelty. 
This  was  another  infraction  of  my  established  principles,  and 
grievously  had  I  to  answer  it.  I  was  mformed  that  the 
keepers  on  Prince  Conti's  estate  were  just  about  as  severe  ; 
and  I  trembled  lest  that  Prince,  for  whom  I  felt  the  pro- 
foundest  respect  and  gratitude,  should  take  to  himself  what 
outraged  humanity  had  wrung  from  me  regardmg  his  uncle 
and  feel  hunself  offended.  Howbeit,  as  my  conscience  fully 
acquitted  me  upon  this  score,  I  made  myself  easy;  and  I  was 
right.  At  least  I  have  never  heard  that  this  great  prmce 
took  the  slightest  notice  of  the  passage,  which,  besides,  was 
wiitten  long  before  I  had  the  honor  of  his  acquaintance. 

A  few  days  either  before  or  after  the  publication  of  my 
work,  for  I  do  not  exactly  recollect  the  time,  there  appeared 
another  work  upon  the  same  subject,  taken  verbatim  from  my 
first  volume,  excepting  a  few  stale  stupidities  of  the  author's 
own.  The  iDOok  bore  the  name  of  a  Genevese,  one  Balexsert, 
and  the  title-page  made  the  announcement  that  it  had  gained  the 
premium  offered  by  the  Academy  of  Harlem.  I  easily  saw 
through  the  dodge — saw  that  both  Academy  and  premium 
were  creations  to  order,  the  better  to  conceal  the  plagiarism 
from  the  eyes  of  the  pubUc;  but  I  farther  perceived  that  there 
was  some  prior  intrigue  in  the  matter  I  could  not  unravel  ; 
either  by  the  lending  of  my  manuscript,  without  which  the 


326  Rousseau's  confessions. 

theft  could  not  have  been  committed,  or  for  the  purpose  of 
forging  the  story  of  the  pretended  premium,  to  which  it  was 
necessary  to  give  some  foundation.  It  was  not  until  several 
years  afterwards  that,  from  a  word  that  escaped  d'lvernois, 
I  penetrated  the  mystery,  and  discerned  that  brother  Balex- 
sert  was  a  mere  simulacrum,  and  caught  sight  of  who  the  real 
cord-pullers  were  that  stood  behind  this  patent  puppet. 

The  low  murmurings  which  precede  a  storm  were  begin- 
ning to  be  heard,  and  men  of  penetration  clearly  saw  there 
was  something  gathering,  relative  to  me  and  my  work,  that 
would  shortly  break  over  my  head.  For  my  own  part,  such 
was  my  security — such  my  stupidity  that,  far  from  foreseeing 
the  coming  crash,  I  did  not  suspect  the  cause  of  it  even  after 
I  had  felt  its  effect.  It  was  artfully  given  out  that,  while  the 
Jesuits  were  treated  with  severity,  no  indulgence  could  be 
shown  to  books  nor  the  authors  of  them  in  which  religion  was 
attacked.  I  was  reproached  with  having  put  my  name  to 
the  'Emik,^  as  though  I  had  not  put  it  to  all  my  other  works, 
and  nothing  said.  Government  seemed  to  fear  it  should  be 
obliged  to  take  certain  steps  it  regretted  to  take,  but  which  cir- 
cumstances and  my  imprudence  rendered  necessary.  Rumors  to 
this  effect  reached  my  ears,  but  gave  me  no  great  uneasiness  ; 
it  never  even  came  into  my  head  that  there  could  be  the  least 
thing  in  the  whole  affair  concerning  me  personally — I  that 
felt  so  perfectly  irreproachable,  so  well  supported,  so  en  regie 
in  every  way,  and  having  no  apprehension  Madam  de  Luxem- 
bourg would  leave  me  in  difficulty  for  an  error,  which,  if  it 
existed  at  all,  proceeded  entirely  from  herself.  But  know 
ing  the  manner  of  proceeding  in  like  cases,  and  aware  that 
the  usage  was  to  hold  the  publisher  responsible,  while  the 
author  was  let  off  scot-free,  I  was  not  without  some  uneasiness 
on  poor  Duchesne's  account,  should  M.  de  Malesherbes  aban- 
don him. 

My  tranquillity  still  continued.  Rumors  increased,  and 
soon  totally  changed  their  tone.  The  public,  and  especially 
the  Parliament,  seemed  irritated  by  my  composure.  In  a 
few  days  the  excitement  became  terrible,  and  the  menaces, 
changing  their  object,  pointed  directly  to  me.  The  Par- 
liamentarians were  heard  openly  to  declare  that  burning 
books  seemed  to  have  no  effect, — the  authors  should  be 
sent  after  them.     Not  a  word  was  said  of  the  publishers. 


PERIOD  n.     BOOK  XL    1T62.  327 

The  first  time  these  expressions,  move  worthy  an  inquisitor 
of  Goa  than  a  senator,  were  reported  to  me,  I  had  no 
doubt  of  their  coming  from  the  Holbachians  with  the  inten- 
tion of  alarming  me,  and  driving  me  from  France.  I  laughed 
at  this  puerile  dodge,  and  said  to  myself  that  had  they 
known  the  real  state  of  things,  they  would  have  devised 
some  other  mode  of  frightening  me  ;  but  the  rumor  at 
length  became  such  that  I  perceived  it  was  no  joke,  but 
solemn,  serious  earnest.  M.  and  Mme.  de  Luxembourg 
had  this  year  come  to  Montmorency  in  the  month  of  June, 
which,  for  their  second  visit,  was  earlier  than  common. 
In  my  retirement  I  heard  but  little  of  my  new  books,  not- 
withstanding the  sensation  they  were  making  in  Paris,  and 
neither  the  Marshal  nor  his  lady  said  a  single  word  to  me 
on  the  subject.  One  morning,  however,  when  M.  deLux-. 
embourg  and  I  were  alone  together,  he  asked  me  if  I  had 
spoken  ill  of  M.  de  Choiseul  in  the  'Social  Contract.'  'I', 
said  I,  retreating  with  surprise,  '  no,  I  swear  to  you  I  have 
not ;  but  on  the  contrary  I  have  paid  him  the  most  splendid 
praise  ever  minister  received,  and  that  with  a  pen  not  giv- 
en to  laudation.'  Whereupon  I  showed  him  the  passage. 
'  And  in  the  EmileV  rejoined  he.  '  Not  a  word,'  said  I : 
'  there  is  not  a  single  word  in  it  that  relates  to  him.'  '  Ah  1' 
said  he,  with  more  vivacity  than  was  common  to  him,  '  you 
should  have  taken  the  same  care  in  the  other  book,  or  have 
expressed  yourself  more  clearly  !'  '  I  thought,'  replied  I, 
'  I  had  done  so  V  my  esteem  for  him  would  certainly  induce 
me  to  do  so.'  He  was  going  to  speak  again  ;  I  perceived 
him  ready  to  open  his  mouth  ;  he  stopped  short,  and  held 
his  tongue.  Oh  1  thou  wretched  court  policy,  which,  even  in 
the  best  of  hearts,  o'erules  friendship  itself  I 

This  conversation,  short  though  it  was,  gave  me  light  on 
my  situation,  at  least  in  certain  respects,  and  gave  me  to 
understand  that  it  was  in  very  deed  against  myself  that  the 
anger  of  the  administration  was  directed.  This  unheard 
of  fatality,  seeming  to  turn  to  my  prejudice  all  the  good  I 
did  and  wrote,  afflicted  my  heart.  However,  feeling  shield- 
ed in  this  affair  by  Madam  de  Luxembourg  and  M.  de 
Malesherbes,  I  could  not  perceive  how  it  was  possible  for 
ray  persecutors  to  set  them  aside  and  come  direct  to  me. 
However,  I  was  from  that  moment  convinced  that  equity 


328  Rousseau's  confessions. 

and  justice  were  no  longer  in  question  and  that  they  would 
not  trouble  themselves  much  about  examining  whether  or 
not  I  was  really  culpable.  Meanwhile  the  storm  became 
more  and  more  menacing.  IS^eaulrae,  himself,  expressed 
to  me,  in  the  excess  of  his  babbling,  how  much  he  repented 
having  had  anything  to  do  in  the  business,  and  his  certainty 
of  the  fate  impending  over  book  and  author.  One  thing, 
however,  always  reassured  me  :  I  saw  Madam  de  Luxem- 
bourg so  cool,  calm,  cheerful  even,  that  I  concluded  she 
must  be  certain  of  the  sufficiency  of  her  credit  not  to  feel 
the  least  apprehension  on  my  account,  not  to  give  me  a 
single  word  of  either  consolation  or  apology,  and  see  the 
turn  affairs  were  taking  with  as  much  unconcern  as  though 
she  had  nothing  to  do  with  it  and  took  no  interest  in  me 
whatever.  What  surpi'ised  me  most  was  her  absolute 
silence.  I  thought  she  ought  at  least  to  have  said  some- 
thing on  the  subject.  Madam  de  Boufflers  seemed  less 
calm.  She  appeared  agitated  and  restless,  assuring  me  his 
Highness,  Prince  de  Conti,  was  using  his  utmost  endeavor  to 
ward  off  the  blow  about  to  be  directed  against  my  person, 
and  which  she  constantly  attributed  to  the  nature  of  pres- 
ent circumstances — a  crisis  in  which  it  was  of  importance 
that  Parliament  should  leave  the  Jesuits  no  opening  to  accuse 
it  of  indifference  regarding  religion.  She  did  not,  however, 
seem  to  depend  much  on  the  success  either  of  her  own  or  the 
prince's  efibrts.  Her  conversations,  more  alarming  than 
consolatory,  bore  this  one  burden — that  I  should  leave  the 
kingdom  and  go  to  England,  where  she  offered  me  an 
introduction  to  many  of  her  friends,  amongst  others  one  to 
the  celebrated  Hume,  with  whom  she  had  long  been  upon 
a  footing  of  intimate  friendship.  Seeing  me  still  un- 
shaken, she  had  recourse  to  other  arguments  better  calculat- 
ed to  disturb  my  tranquillity.  She  intimated  that,  in  case 
I  was  arrested  and  interrogated  I  would  subject  myself  to 
the  necessity  of  naming  Madam  de  Luxembourg,  whereas 
her  friendship  for  me  well  deserved  that  I  should  not  expose 
myself  to  c<jmproniise  her.  I  replied  that  should  what  she 
seemed  to  apprehend  come  to  pass,  she  need  not  be  alarm- 
ed ;  that  I  would  not  compromise  her.  She  said  such  a 
resolution  was  more  easily  taken  than  adhered  to  ;  and  in 
this  she  was  right,  espcciidly  with  respect  to  me,  determin- 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  XI      1162.  329 

ed  as  I  always  have  been  never  to  perjure  myself  nor  lie 
before  judges,  whatever  danger  there  might  be  in  speaking 
the  truth. 

Perceiving  that  this  observation  had  made  some  impres- 
sion on  my  mind,  without  however  inducing  me  to  resolve 
upon  flight,  she  spoke  of  the  Bastille  for  a  few  weeks,  as  a 
means  of  placmg  me  beyond  the  reach  of  the  jurisdiction  of 
the  Parliament,  which  has  nothing  to  do  with  prisoners  of 
State.  I  had  no  objection  to  this  singular  favor,  provided 
it  were  not  solicited  in  my  name.  As  she  never  spoke  of  it 
a  second  time,  I  afterwards  thought  her  proposition  was 
made  to  sound  me,  and  that  the  cabal  did  not  think  proper 
to  have  recourse  to  an  expedient  that  would  have  put  an  end 
to  everything. 

A  few  days  afterwards,  the  Marshal  received  from  the 
cure  of  Deuil,  a  friend  of  Grunm  and  Madam  d'Epinay,  a 
letter  informing-  him,  as  from  good  authority,  that  the  Parha- 
ment  was  to  proceed  against  me  with  the  utmost  severity, 
and  that  on  such  a  day,  which  he  mentioned,  an  order  was 
to  be  given  to  arrest  me.  This  I  judged  was  got  up  by  the 
Holbachians  ;  I  knew  that  the  Parhament  was  very  atten- 
tive to  forms  :  now  it  was  to  infringe  them  all  to  commence 
on  this  occasion  by  arresting  me,  before  it  was  juridically 
known  that  I  had  avowed  myself  as  really  the  autlior  of  the 
book.  I  observed  to  Madam  de  Boufflers  that  there  were 
none  but  persons  accused  of  crimes  tendmg  to  endanger  the 
public  peace  that,  (lest  they  should  escape  pimishment)  were 
ordered  to  be  arrested  on  simple  suspicion.  But  when  govern- 
ment wants  to  punish  a  crime  like  mine,  which  merits  honor 
and  reward,  the  proceedings  are  directed  against  the  book, 
and  the  author  is  as  much  as  possible  left  out  of  the  question. 
Hereupon  she  drew  some  subtle  distinction — what  I  have 
forgotten — to  the  effect  that  ordering  me  to  be  arrested  in- 
stead of  summoning  me  to  be  heard  was  a  matter  of  favor. 
The  next  day  I  received  a  letter  from  Guy,  infonning  me 
that,  having  been  at  the  Attorney-General's,  that  same  day 
he  had  seen  the  rough  draft  of  a  '  requisition '  against  the 
'JEmile'  and  its  author  lying  on  his  desk.  Guy,  it  is  to  be 
remembered,  was  the  partner  of  Duchesne,  who  had  printed 
the  work.  The  said  chap,  quite  unapprehensive  on  his  own 
account,  charitably  gave  me  this  piece  of  information.     Judge 


330  Rousseau's  confessions. 

how  credible  all  this  seemed  to  me  !  It  was  so  probable  a 
story — so  natural  that  a  bookseller,  admitted  to  an  audience 
with  the  Attorney-General,  should  coolly  read  scattered 
rough  drafts  and  manuscripts  on  the  desk  of  that  magistrate  ! 
Madam  de  Boufflers  and  others  confirmed  what  he  said. 
From  the  absurdities  which  were  incessantly  rung  in  my 
ears,  I  was  almost  tempted  to  believe  the  whole  crew  had 
lost  theu'  senses. 

Clearly  perceiving  there  was  some  mystery  under  all  this 
nobody  seemed  willing  to  let  me  into,  I  patiently  waited  the 
event,  relying  on  my  integrity  and  innocence  in  the  matter 
and  thinking  myself  happy,  let  the  persecution  which  awaited 
me  be  what  it  would,  to  be  called  to  the  honor  of  suffering 
for  the  truth.  Far  from  being  afraid  and  concealing  myself, 
I  went  every  day  to  the  chateau,  and  in  the  afternoon  took 
my  usual  walk.  On  the  eighth  of  June,  the  evening  before 
the  warrant  was  issued,  I  walked  out  in  company  with  two 
professors  of  the  Oratory,  Father  Alamanni  and  Father 
Maudard.  We  carried  a  little  collation  to  Champeaux, 
which  we  eat  with  a  keen  appetite.  We  had  forgotten  to 
bring  glasses,  so  we  supplied  their  place  by  stalks  of  rye, 
through  which  we  sucked  up  the  wine  through  the  bottle, 
piqumg  ourselves  upon  picking  out  large  tubes  so  to  vie  with 
each  other  in  seeing  who  would  pump  up  most.  More  gay 
I  never  was  in  all  my  life. 

I  have  related  how  that  I  lost  my  sleep  during  ray  youth. 
Since  that  time  I  had  contracted  a  habit  of  reading  every 
night  in  my  bed,  until  I  found  my  eyes  beginning  to  grow 
heavy.  I  would  then  extinguish  my  wax  taper  and  try  and 
doze  for  a  few  moments,  generally  very  brief.  The  book 
I  commonly  read  at  night  was  the  Bible,  which  I  went 
through  five  or  six  times  in  this  way.  This  evening  finding 
myself  less  disposed  to  sleep  than  ordinary,  I  continued  my 
reading  beyond  the  usual  hour,  and  read  the  whole  book 
which  finishes  at  the  Levite  of  Ephraim — the  book  of 
Judges,  if  I  mistake  not  ;  for  I  have  never  seen  it  since. 

The  story  afiected  me  exceedingly,  and  my  imagination 
was  still  running  on  it  in  a  sort  of  dream  I  fell  into  when  sud- 
denly I  was  roused  up  by  a  noise  and  light.  Therese,  carry- 
ing a  candle,  was  lighting  in  M.  La  Roche  who,  seeing  me 
hastily  start  up  in  my  bed,   said  '  Do  not  be  alarmed  ;  I 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  XI.       1162.  331 

come  from  the  Marchioness  who  sends  you  a  note,  enclos- 
ing a  letter  from  Prince  de  Conti.'  So  it  was.  Enclosed 
in  Madam  de  Luxembourg's  letter  I  fouud  another,  which  an 
express  from  the  prince  had  just  brought  her,  stating  that 
notwithstanding  all  her  efforts,  the  Powers  had  determined 
to  proceed  against  me  with  the  utmost  rigor.  '  The  excite- 
ment,' wrote  he,  '  is  tremendous  ;  nothing  can  ward  off  the 
blow  :  the  court  requires  it,  and  Parliament  will  have 
it  ;  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  a  warrant  for  his  arrest 
will  be  issued,  and  officers  will  immediately  be  sent  to  seize 
him.  I  have  obtained  a  promise  that  he  shall  not  be  pur- 
sued if  he  makes  his  escape  ;  but  if  he  persists  in  expos- 
ing himself  to  be  apprehended,  apprehended  he  will  be.' 
La  Roche  conjured  me  in  Madam  de  Luxembourg's  name 
to  rise  and  go  and  speak  to  her.  It  was  two  o'clock,  and  she 
had  just  retired  to  bed.  '  She  expects  you '  added  he,  'and 
will  not  go  to  sleep  without  seeing  you.'  I  dressed  myself 
in  haste  and  ran  to  her. 

She  appeared  to  me  to  be  agitated.  'Twas  the  first 
time.  Her  distress  affected  me.  In  this  moment  of  sur- 
prise, and  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  I  myself  was  not  free 
from  emotion  ;  but  on  seeing  her  1  forgot  my  own  situation, 
and  thought  of  nothing  but  the  melancholy  part  she  would 
have  to  act,  should  I  suffer  myself  to  be  arrested  ;  for 
though  I  felt  within  me  courage  enough  to  adhere  to  truth 
prejudicial  or  even  destructive  to  me  though  it  might  be,  I 
did  not  feel  I  had  sufficient  presence  of  mind,  address,  firmness, 
perhaps,  to  avoid  exposing  her,  should  I  be  closely  pressed. 
This  determined  me  to  sacrifice  my  reputation  to  her 
tranquillity,  and  to  do  for  her  in  the  pass,  what  nothing 
could  have  prevailed  upon  me  to  do  for  myself.  The 
moment  I  had  come  to  this  resolution,  I  told  her  my  pur- 
pose, unwilling  to  diminish  the  costly  price  of  the  sacrifice 
by  obliging  her  to  buy  it.  I  am  sure  she  could  not  mis- 
take my  motive  ;  and  yet  not  a  word  i-aid  she  going 
to  prove  she  was  sensible  thereto.  I  was  so  shocked  at 
this  indifference  that,  for  a  moment,  I  thought  of  retract- 
ing ;  but  the  Marshal  came  in,  and  Madam  de  Boufflers 
arrived  from  Paris  a  few  moments  afterwards.  Tliey  did 
what  Madam  de  Luxembourg  ought  to  have  done.  I  suffer- 
ed myself  to  be  flattered  ;  1  was  ashamed  to  retract ;  and 


332  Rousseau's  confessions. 

the  only  thing  that  remained  to  be  determined  upon  was 
the  place  of  my  retreat  and  the  time  of  my  departure. 
M.  de  Luxembourg,  proposed  that  I  should  remain  incognito 
a  few  days  at  the  chateau  so  that  we  might  deliberate  at 
leisure,  and  take  such  measures  as  should  seem  proper.  To 
this  I  would  not  consent,  no  more  than  to  go  secretly  to 
the  '  Temple.'  I  was  determined  to  set  off  the  same  day 
rather  than  remain  concealed  in  any  place  whatever. 

'  KnowiugT  had  secret  and  powerful  enemies  in  the  king- 
dom, I  came  to  the  conclusion  that,  notwithstandmg  my  at- 
tachment to  France,  I  ought  to  quit  it,  the  better  to  insm'e 
my  future  tranquillity.  My  first  idea  was  to  retire  to  Geneva  ; 
but  a  moment's  reflection  was  sufficient  to  dissuade  me  from 
committmg  that  piece  of  folly.  I  knew  that  the  French 
ministry,  still  more  powerful  at  Geneva  than  at  Paris,  would 
not  leave  me  any  more  at  peace  in  one  city  than  in  the  other, 
were  they  bent  on  tonnenting  me.  I  was  also  aware  that 
the  '  Dissertation  on  Inequahty '  had  excited  a  hatred  against 
me  in  the  Council  that  was  all  the  more  dangerous  as  they 
dared  not  show  it.  I  had  fm-ther  learned  that  when  the 
Nouvdle  Heloise  appeared,  this  same  Council  had  unmediately 
forbidden  the  sale  of  the  work,  upon  the  solicitation  of  Doc- 
tor Tronchin  ;  but  perceiving  that  the  example  was  nowhere 
imitated,  not  even  at  Paris,  the  members  were  ashamed  of 
what  they  had  done  and  withdrew  the  prohibition.  I  doubted 
not  that,  finding  this  a  more  favorable  opportunity,  they 
would  take  good  care  to  profit  thereby.  Spite  of  all  their  fine 
pretences,  I  knew  that  in  the  heart  of  every  Genevese  lurked 
a  secret  jealousy  against  me,  which  but  awaited  a  favorable 
moment,  to  show  itself  palpably  and  practically.  My  love 
of  my  country,  though,  pleaded  hard  in  its  favor,  and  could 
I  have  flattered  myself  I  should  there  have  lived  in  peace,  I 
should  not  have  hesitated  ;  ])ut  neither  honor  nor  reason 
permitting  me  to  take  refuge  like  a  fugitive,  I  resolved  to 
approach  it  only,  and  to  wait  in  Switzerland  until  something 
relative  to  me  should  be  determined  upon  in  Geneva.  As 
will  presently  be  seen  this  state  of  uncertainty  did  not  long 
continue.    —-.^ 

Madam  deBoufilers  highly  disapproved  this  resolution,  and 
renewed  her  efforts  to  induce  me  to  go  to  England.  But 
she  could  not  shake  me.     I  never  loved  England  nor  the 


PERIOD  II.    BOOK  XI.      1762.  333 

English,  and  all  Madam  de  Boufflers'  eloquence,  in  place  of 
conquering  my  repugnancy,  seemed  to  increase  it,  without 
my  knowing  why. 

Determined  to  set  off  the  same  day,  I  was  from  the  morn- 
ing inaccessible  to  everybody,  and  La  Roche,  whom  I  had 
sent  to  fetch  my  papers,  would  not  tell  Therese  herself  whether 
I  was  gone  or  not.  Since  I  had  determined  to  write  my 
memoirs  I  had  accumulated  a  great  number  of  letters  and 
other  papers,  so  that  he  was  obliged  to  go  and  come  several 
times.  A  part  of  these  papers,  ah'eady  arranged  were  laid 
aside,  and  I  employed  the  morning  in  sorting  the  remainder, 
so  that  I  might  take  with  me  such  only  as  might  be  of  use 
to  me  and  destroy  what  remained.  M.  de  Luxembourg  was 
kind  enough  to  assist  me  in  this  matter.  However  it  turned 
out  to  be  so  long  a  job  that  we  could  not  finish  it  dm'ing  the 
morning,  and  I  had  not  tune  to  burn  a  single  paper.  The 
Marshal  offered  to  take  upon  himself  to  sort  what  I  should 
leave  behind  me,  and  burn  whatever  was  of  no  use,  without 
entrusting  it  to  any  person  whatever,  and  to  send  me  what 
he  had  picked  out.  I  accepted  this  offer,  very  glad  to  be 
delivered  from  the  trouble,  so  that  I  might  pass  the  few  re- 
maiumg  hours  with  persons  so  dear  to  me,  from  whom  I  was 
to  be  separated  for  ever.  He  took  the  key  of  the  chamber 
in  which  I  left  these  papers,  and  at  my  earnest  solicitation, 
sent  for  my  poor  '  aunt,'  who  was  fretting  herself  to  death 
over  what  was  become  of  me  and  what  was  to  become  of 
herself,  and  in  momentary  expectation  of  the  arrival  of  the 
officers  of  justice,  without  knowing  how  to  act  or  what  to 
answer  them.  La  Roche  accompanied  her  to  the  chateau 
without  giving  her  any  intelligence  of  me  :  she  thought  me 
ah'eady  far  off  :  on  perceiving  me,  she  made  the  place  resound 
with  her  cries,  and  thi'ew  herself  into  my  arms.  Oh,  friend- 
ship ;  heart-affinity,  fellowship,  intimacy  !  Swift  o'er  me, 
dming  this  sweet,  yet  better  moment,  come  rushing  the  re- 
membrance of  the  many  happy  days  of  happiness,  tenderness, 
and  peace  we  had  passed  together,  only  augmented  the  grief 
of  a  first  separation,  after  a  union  of  seventeen  years,  during 
which  we  had  scarcely  lost  sight  of  each  other  for  a  single 
day.  The  Marshal,  who  saw  this  embrace,  could  not  with- 
hold his  tears.  He  withdrew.  Therese  was  bent  on  never 
more  leaving  me.     I  made  her  feel  the  inconvenience  she 


334  Rousseau's  confessions. 

would  put  us  to  if  she  accompanied  me  at  that  moment,  and 
the  necessity  of  her  remaining  to  take  care  of  my  effects  and 
collect  my  money.  When  an  order  is  made  to  arrest  a  man, 
it  is  customary  to  seize  his  papers,  and  put  a  seal  upon  his 
effects,  or  to  make  an  inventory  of  them,  and  appoint  a  cus- 
todian to  whose  care  they  are  entrusted.  It  was  behooving 
she  should  remain  to  observe  what  passed,  and  make  the 
best  of  things,  however  they  might  turn  out.  I  promised 
her  she  should  shortly  join  me  :  the  Marshal  confirmed  my 
promise  ;  but  I  would  not  tell  her  where  I  was  going,  so 
that,  in  case  she  was  questioned  by  the  persons  who  were  to 
come  to  take  me  into  custody,  she  might  with  truth  be  able 
to  plead  ignorance  on  that  head.  While  embracing  her  the 
moment  before  we  parted,  a  most  extraordinary  emotion 
thrilled  me,  and  I  said  to  her  in  a  mood  alas  !  but  too  pro- 
phetic :  ^Moti  enfant,  you  must  arm  yourself  with  courage.  You 
have  shared  my  prosperity  ;  it  now  remains  for  you — since 
so  you'll  have  it— to  share  my  adversity.  Expect  nothing 
in  future  but  insult  and  calumny  in  following  me.  The  des- 
tiny this  sad  day  begms  for  me  will  pursue  me  until  my  latest 
hour.' 

The  main  thing  now  was  to  see  after  my  departure. 
The  officers  were  to  have  arrived  at  ten  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  It  was  four  in  the  afternoon  when  I  set  out,  and 
they  had  not  come  then.  It  was  determined  I  should  take 
post.  As  I  had  no  carriage,  the  Marshal  made  me  a 
present  of  a  cabriolet,  and  lent  me  horses  and  a  postillion, 
the  first  stage,  where,  in  consequence  of  the  measure  he 
had  taken,  I  had  no  difficulty  in  procuring  others. 

As  I  had  not  dined  at  table,  nor  made  my  appearance 
at  the  chateau,  the  ladies  came  to  bid  me  adieu  in  the 
entresol,  where  I  had  passed  the  day.  Madam  de  Luxem- 
bourg embraced  me  several  times  with  a  sad  enough  air  ; 
but  I  no  longer  felt  that  warmth  in  these  embraces  that 
had  characterized  those  she  had  lavished  on  me  two  or 
three  years  before.  Madam  de  Boufflers  also  embraced  me, 
and  said  many  very  handsome  things  to  me.  An  embrace 
that  surprised  me  more  than  all  the  rest  had  done  was  one 
from  Madam  de  Mirepoix  ;  for  she  also  was  at  the  chateau. 
Madam  la  Marechale  de  Mirepoix  is  a  person  of  extremely 
cold,  decent  and  reserved  manners,  and  did  not  seem  to 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  XI.      1162.  335 

me  altogether  exempt  from  that  hauteur  natural  to  the 
house  of  Lorraine.  She  had  never  shown  me  any  great 
attention.  Whether,  flattered  by  an  honor  I  had  not  ex- 
pected, I  endeavored  to  enhance  the  value  of  it,  or  that 
there  really  was  in  the  embrace  a  little  of  that  commisera- 
tion natural  to  generous  hearts,  I  seemed  to  discern  a  certain 
energy  in  her  look  and  behavior,  that  profoundly  affected 
me.  I  have  since  then  frequently  suspected,  in  thinking 
over  the  matter  that,  not  unacquainted  with  the  fate 
whereto  I  was  condemned,  she  could  not  refuse  a  moment- 
ary feeling  of  grief  over  the  thought  of  my  sad  lot. 

The  Marshal  did  not  open  his  mouth,  he  was  as  pale 
as  death.  He  insisted  on  accompanying  me  to  the  chaise, 
which  was  waiting  for  me  at  the  watering-place.  We 
wended  our  way  through  the  whole  length  of  the  garden 
without  uttering  a  single  word.  I  had  the  key  of  the  park 
which  I  made  use  of  to  open  the  gate  ;  after  which,  in- 
stead of  putting  it  back  into  my  pocket,  I  held  it  out  to 
the  Marshal  without  saying  a  word.  He  took  it  with 
amazing  vivacity,  a  fact  I  have  not  been  able  to  help  fre- 
quently thinking  of  since  then.  Never  in  my  whole  life  did 
I  experience  a  more  bitter  moment  than  this  parting.  Our 
embrace  was  long  and  silent :  we  both  felt  that  we  were 
bidding  each  other  a  last  and  eternal  farewell. 

Between  Barre  and  Montmorency,  I  met  a  carriage, 
containing  four  men  in  black,  who  saluted  me  with  a  smile. 
From  what  Therese  has  since  told  me  of  the  looks  of 
the  officers  of  justice,  the  hour  of  their  arrival  and  their 
manner  of  behavior,  I  had  no  doubt  that  they  were  the 
persons  I  met,  especially  as  the  order  for  my  arrest,  instead 
of  being  made  out  at  seven  o'clock,  as  I  had  been  told  it 
would,  had  not  been  issued  till  noon.  I  had  to  go  through 
Paris.  A  person  in  an  open  cabriolet  is  not  much  con- 
cealed. I  saw  several  persons  in  the  streets  who  saluted 
me  with  an  air  of  familiarity,  but  I  did  not  know  any  of 
them.  The  same  evening  1  changed  ray  route  to  Villeroy. 
At  Lyons  the  custom  was  for  couriers  to  be  conducted  to 
the  Commandant's.  This  might  have  been  embarrassing  to 
a  man  unwilling  either  to  lie  or  cliange  his  name.  I  went 
with  a  letter  from  Madam  de  Luxembourg  as  an  introduc- 
tion, and    begged    M.  de    Villeroy  to   have   me   spared 


336  Rousseau's  confessions. 

this  disagreeable  ceremony.  M.  de  Yilleroy  gave  me  a 
letter,  of  which  I  made  uo  use,  seeing  I  did  not  go  through 
Lyons.  This  letter  still  remains  sealed  amongst  my  papers. 
The  duke  pressed  me  to  sleep  at  Villeroy  ;  but  I  preferred 
returning  to  the  high-way,  which  I  did,  traveling  two  more 
stages  that  same  afternoon. 

My  carriage  was  an  uncomfortable  affair,  and  I  was  too 
much  indisposed  to  go  far  in  a  day.  My  appearance,  be- 
sides, was  not  sufficiently  imposing  for  me  to  be  well  served, 
and  in  France,  as  is  well  known,  post-horses  feel  the  whip 
exactly  in  proportion  to  the  opinion  the  postillion  has  of  his 
temporary  master.  By  paying  the  guides  generously,  I 
thought  I  should  make  up  for  my  shabby  appearance  ;  this 
was  still  worse.  They  took  me  for  a  scrubby  fellow,  that 
was  carrying  round  orders  and  traveling  post  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life.  Henceforth  I  had  nothing  but  worn  out  old 
hacks,  and  I  became  the  sport  of  the  postillions.  I  ended  as 
I  should  have  begun,  by  being  patient,  holding  my  tongue, 
and  suffering  myself  to  be  driven  as  they  might  see  fit. 

I  had  sufficient  food  for  reflection  to  prevent  me  from 
being  weary  upon  the  road,  in  the  recollection  of  what  had 
just  happened  ;  but  this  was  neither  my  turn  of  mind  nor 
the  inclination  of  my  heart.  It  is  astonishing  with  what 
facility  I  forget  past  misfortunes,  however  recent  they  may 
be.  In  exact  proportion  as  the  anticipation  of  evil,  so  long 
as  it  is  still  in  the  future,  terrifies  me,  does  the  remembrance 
thereof  grow  feeble,  and  sooner  or  later,  fades  quite  out  of 
memory,  after  it  is  once  over.  My  morbid  imagination, 
incessantly  tormented  by  the  apprehension  of  evils  still  at 
a  distance,  throws  a  veil  over  memory  and  prevents  me 
fro:n  recollecting  those  that  are  past.  Caution  is  needless 
after  the  evil  has  happened,  and  it  is  time  lost  to  give  it  a 
thought.  I  in  a  measure  dull  the  edge  of  grief,  in  advance: 
the  more  I  suffer  in  the  anticipation  of  it,  the  greater  is 
the  facility  with  which  I  forget  it  ;  whilst  on  the  contrary, 
incessantly  dwelling  on  the  recollection  of  my  past  happi- 
ness, I  so  linger  and  revel  in  the  thoughts  thereof  that  I 
have,  so  to  speak,  the  power  of  enjoying  it  over  again  when 
I  want  to.  It  is  to  this  happy  disposition  that  1  feel  I  am 
indebted  for  an  exemption  from  that  rancorous  spite  that 
ferments  in  a  vindictive  mind,  l)y  the  continual    remem- 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  XI.       1162.  331 

brance  of  injuries  received,  and  torments  the  person  himselt 
with  all  the  evil  he  wishes  to  do  his  enemy.  Naturally 
choleric,  I  have  felt  all  the  force  of  anger,  rising  to  very 
fury  during  the  first  moments  of  excitement;  but  a  desire 
of  vengeance  never  took  root  within  me.  I  think  too  little 
about  the  offence  to  give  myself  much  trouble  about  the 
oiFeuder.  I  only  think  of  the  injury  I  have  received  from 
him,  on  account  of  what  harm  he  may  do  me  in  future  ;  but 
were  I  certain  he  would  never  do  me  another,  the  first  would 
instantly  be  forgotten.  We  are  always  having  pardon  of 
offences  preached  to  us  :  a  very  beautiful  virtue,  undoubtedly; 
but  of  no  use  to  me.  I  know  not  whether  or  not  my  heart 
would  have  power  to  overcome  its  hatred,  for  it  never  yet 
felt  that  passion  ;  and  I  give  myself  too  little  concern  about 
my  enemies  to  have  the  merit  of  pardoning  them.  How 
terribly  they  torment  themselves  in  order  to  torment  me, 
I  shall  not  say;  I  am  at  their  mercy ;  they  have  all  power, 
and  they  use  it.  There  is  but  one  thing  above  their  power 
— one  thing  on  which  I  set  them  at  defiance  :  namely, 
amid  all  their  tormenting  of  themselves  about  me,  to  force 
me  to  give  myself  the  least  trouble  about  them. 

The  day  after  my  departure  I  had  so  perfectly  forgotten 
what  had  passed — Parliament,  Madam  de  Luxembourg, 
M.  de  Choiseul,  Grimm,  D'Alembert,  with  their  plottiugs 
and  plannings  that,  had  it  not  been  for  the  precautious  I 
had  to  observe  during  the  journey,  I  should  not  even  have 
thought  of  them.  A  remembrance  that  filled  the  place  of 
all  these  was  what  I  had  read  the  evening  before  my  de- 
partrre.  I  recollected  also  the  Idylles  of  Gessner,  which 
his  translator,  Hubert,  had  sent  me  shortly  before.  These 
two  ideas  became  so  vividly  present  to  my  thoughts,  and 
so  connected  themselves  together  in  my  miud,  that  I  deter- 
mined to  endeavor  to  unite  them  by  treating  the  subject  of 
the  'Levite  of  Ephraim'  after  the  manner  of  Gessner.  His 
simple  idyllic  style  might  appear  but  little  fitted  to  so  hor- 
rible a  subject,  and  it  is  not  to  be  presumed  that  the  situa- 
tion I  was  tlieu  in  could  have  afforded  many  smiling,  happy 
scenes,  wherewith  to  light  up  the  darkness  of  the  theme.  I 
tried  my  hand  on  it,  however,  solely  to  amuse  myself  while 
riding  in  the  chaise,  and  without  the  least  hope  of  success. 
No  sooner  had  I  begun,  though,  theu  1  was  amazed  at  the 
II.  15 


338  Rousseau's  confessions. 

amenity  of  my  ideas,  and  the  facility  I  found  in  expression. 
In  three  days  I  composed  the  three  first  cantos  of  my  little 
poem  :  the  remainder  I  finished  at  Metiers ;  and  I  am  sure 
I  never  wrote  anything  in  my  life  throughout  which  reigns 
a  more  aflfecting  mildness  of  manners,  a  greater  freshness 
of  coloring,  more  sweet  simple  pictures,  greater  exactness 
of  proportion,  or  a  more  antique  simplicity  in  the  whole 
management,  and  all  notwithstanding  the  horror  of  the  sub- 
ject— in  its  fundamental  conception  abominable  ;  so  that,  to 
say  nothing  else,  I  had  still  the  merit  of  having  overcome 
a  difficulty.  If  the  'Levite  of  Epkraim'  be  not  the  best  of 
my  works,  it  will  ever  be  the  most  dear  to  me.  I  have 
never  read,  nor  shall  I  ever  read  it  again  without  feeling 
interiorly  the  high  approbation  of  a  heart  that  knows  not 
gall,  which,  far  from  becoming  embittered  by  the  multitud- 
inous misfortunes  that  had  befallen  it,  owns  deep  shut  up 
within  itself,  a  precious  balm  against  all  its  woes,  an  amends 
for  all  its  ills.  Assemble  together  your  gang  of  great 
philosophers,  so  superior  in  their  books  to  the  adversity 
they  never  feel ;  place  them  in  a  situation  similar  to  mine, 
and,  in  the  first  moments  of  the  indignation  of  outraged 
honor,  give  them  a  like  work  to  compose  :  you'll  see  how 
they  will  acquit  themselves. 

When  I  set  off  from  Montmorency  to  go  to  Switzer- 
land, it  was  my  intention  to  stop  at  Yverdun  with  my  old 
friend  Roguin,  wiio  had  retired  thither  several  years  before, 
and  had  invited  me  to  go  and  see  him.  I  learned  Lyons 
was  not  the  direct  road  to  Yverdun,  so  I  did  not  need  to 
pass  through  it.  Bnt  I  was  obliged  to  go  through  Besan- 
9on,  a  fortified  town,  and  consequently  subject  to  the  same 
inconvenience.*  I  took  it  into  my  head  to  turn  to  the  left 
and  go  through  Salins,  under  pretence  of  going  to  see  M. 
de  Mairan,  a  nephew  of  M.  Dupin's,  who  had  an  employ- 
ment at  the  salt  works,  and  had  formerly  given  me  many 
pressing  invitations  to  pay  him  a  visit.  The  expedient  suc- 
ceeded ;  M,  de  Marian  was  not  al)out:  so  very  happy  at  not 
being  obliged  to  stop,  I  continued  my  journey  without  be- 
hig  spoken  to  by  anybody. 

*  Namely,  of  having  to  go  before  the  Commandant,  and  thus  ex- 
pose himself  to  discovery.     Tr. 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  XI.      1162.  339 

On  reaching  the  territory  of  Berne,  I  ordered  the  postil- 
lion to  stop,  and  getting  out  of  the  carriage,  prostrated  my- 
self, kissed  the  ground,  and  exclahned  in  my  transport  : 
'  Heaven,  thou  Protector  of  Yirtue,  I  thank  thee,  I  touch  a 
free  soil  !'  Thus  blind  and  unsuspectmg  in  my  hopes,  have 
I  ever  been  passionately  attached  to  that  which  was  to  make 
me  unhappy.  My  postillion  was  quite  dumfounded  and  thought 
me  mad.  I  got  into  the  carriage,  and  a  few  hours  afterwards 
I  had  the  pm-e  and  perfect  satisfaction  of  feelmg  myself 
pressed  within  the  arms  of  the  venerable  Rognin.  Ah  !  let 
me  breathe  awhile  with  the  worthy  host  !  It  is  necessary  I 
should  gain  strength  and  courage  before  I  proceed  fui'ther  ; 
for  I  shall  soon  find  occasion  for  both. 

It  is  not  to  no  purpose  that  I  have  been  thus  minute  in 
the  recital  of  all  the  circumstances  I  have  been  able  to  recollect. 
Obscure  though  they  may  seem,  yet  when  once  the  scope  and 
scheme  of  the  conspiracy  is  caught,  they  may  throw  vast 
light  upon  its  development  ;  and  may,  perchance,  without 
giving  the  first  idea  of  the  problem  I  am  about  to  propose, 
BtUl  afford  some  aid  in  solving  it. 

Suppose  that,  for  the  execution  of  the  conspiracy  of  which 
I  was  the  object,  my  absence  was  absolutely  necessary  ;  to 
effect  it  everything  must  have  passed  very  much  as  it  did  ; 
but  if,  without  sufleriug  myself  to  be  alarmed  by  Madam  de 
Luxembourg's  noctm'nal  embassy,  I  had  continued  to  hold 
out,  and,  instead  of  remaining  at  the  chateau,  had  quietly 
retm'ued  to  my  bed  and  slept  till  morning,  should  I,  just  the 
same,  have  had  an  order  of  arrest  made  out  against  me  ?  This 
is  a  great  question  upon  which  the  solution  of  many  others 
hangs,  towards  the  elucidation  of  which  a  recollection  of 
the  hour  of  the  threatened  arrest-warrant  and  that  of  the  real 
one  may  not  be  without  its  use.  A  rough  but  telling  enough 
example  of  the  importance  of  the  least  detail  in  the  exposi- 
tion of  facts,  the  secret  causes  whereof  are  being  sought  after 
by  induction. 


BOOK  XII. 

1762. 

Here  begins  the  work  of  darkness  wherein  I  have  for  eight 
years  been  enshrouded,  and  that,  too,  without  my  being  able, 
do  what  I  will,  to  pierce  the  terrific  obscurity  thereof.  In 
the  abyss  of  woes  wherein  I  am  plunged,  I  feel  the  blows  that 
are  directed  at  me,  I  see  the  immediate  instrument  em- 
ployed, but  the  hand  that  aims  them,  and  the  means  in  oper- 
ation I  see  not,  I  cannot  see.  Opprobrium  and  misfortunes 
fall  upon  my  head  as  of  themselves,  and  without  becoming 
openly  manifest.  When  from  my  heart,  wi'ung  and  rent,  a 
groan  escapes,  I  seem  hke  a  man  that  complains  without  rea- 
son, and  the  authors  of  my  ruin  have  found  out  the  unheard- 
of  art  of  making  the  public  an  accomplice  in  their  plots, without 
its  suspecting  it,  and  without  its  perceiving  the  effects  thereof. 
And  so,  while  narrating  what  has  befallen  me  and  the  treat- 
ment I  have  met  with,  I  am  unable  to  point  to  the  moving- 
hand  and  assign  the  causes  of  the  effects  I  relate.  These 
prime  causes  are  severally  set  forth  in  the  three  i^receding 
books,  and  the  interests  that  centered  in  me  and  all  the  secret 
motives  are  therein  pointed  out.  But  how  these  diverse 
causes  became  combined  together  to  operate  the  strange 
events  of  my  hfe,  I  cannot  tell — cannot  conjecture  even.  If 
amongst  my  readers  there  be  any  generous  enough  to  wish  to 
penetrate  these  mysteries  to  the  bottom,  and  discover  the 
truth,  let  them  carefully  read  over  again  the  three  preceding 
books  ;  then,  at  each  fact  they  shall  find  stated  in  the  fol- 
lowing books,*  let  them  obtain  such  information  as  is  within 
their  reach,  and  go  back  from  intrigue  to  intrigue,  and  from 
agent  to  agent,  until  they  come  to  the  prime  movers  of  the 
whole,  I  know  with  the  most  absolute  certainty  where  their 

*  It  was  Rousseau's  purpose  to  write  a  Third  Period,  following  his 
Second.  The  Confessions,  as  they  now  stand,  simply  bring  R.  down  to 
his  departure  for  England.  Fifteen  years  of  his  life  are  thus  left  lilaiik. 
A  few  of  the  leading  facts  of  this  period  are  stated  in  the  Translator's 
Introduction.     Tr. 


PERIOD  II,       BOOK  XII.       1762.  341 

researches  will  terminate  ;  but  in  the  meantime  I  lose  myself 
in  the  dark  and  dreary  labyrinth  through  which  their  steps 
must  be  directed. 

During  my  stay  at  Yverdun,  I  became  acquamted  with 
the  whole  family  of  M.  Roguin,  and,  amongst  others,  with  his 
niece,  Madam  Boy  de  la  Tour  and  her  daughters,  whose  father, 
as  I  think  I  have  already  observed,  I  had  formerly  known  at 
Lyons.  She  had  come  to  Yverdun  on  a  visit  to  her  uncle 
and  his  sisters.  Her  eldest  daughter,  a  young  woman  of 
about  fifteen,  delighted  me  by  her  great  good  sense  and  by 
her  excellent  disjoosition.  I  became  attached  to  the  mother 
and  the  daughter  with  the  most  tender  friendship.  The  lat- 
ter was  destined  by  M.  Roguin  for  his  nephew  the  Colonel, 
a  man  already  verging  towards  the  decline  of  hfe,  and  who 
also  testified  the  warmest  affection  for  me.  But  although 
the  uncle's  heart  was  set  upon  this  marriage,  and  the  nephew 
much  desired  it,  while  I  too  was  extremely  anxious  to  pro- 
mote the  satisfaction  of  both,  the  great  disproportion  of  then- 
ages,  and  the  young  lady's  extreme  repugnance  to  the  match 
induced  me  to  join  with  the  mother  in  breaking  it  off.  Ac- 
cordingly, this  was  done.  The  Colonel  afterwards  married 
his  relative.  Mile.  Dillan,  a  woman  of  as  beautiful  and  amia- 
ble a  disposition  as  my  heart  could  wish,  and  who  has  made 
him  the  happiest  of  husbands  and  fathers.  However,  M. 
Roguin  has  never  been  able  to  forget  my  opposition  to  his 
wishes.  My  consolation  is  in  the  certainty  of  having  dis- 
charged, as  well  towards  him  as  towards  his  family,  friend- 
ship's most  sacred  and  saintly  duty,  which  does  not  consist  in 
always  makmg  yourself  agreeable,  but  in  always  advising  for 
the  best. 

I  did  not  remain  long  in  doubt  as  to  the  reception  that 
would  have  awaited  me  at  Geneva,  had  I  felt  any  disposition 
to  return  thither.  They  burned  my  book,  and  an  arrest- 
warrant  was  issued  against  me  on  the  18th  of  June,  that  is 
nine  days  after  the  Paris  move.  This  second  decree  was  such 
an  accumulation  of  absurdities  and  so  bare-facedly  violated 
the  ecclesiastical  edict,  that  I  refused  to  believe  the  first  ac- 
counts I  heard  of  it,  and,  on  receiving  confirmation  that  it 
was  really  so,  I  trembled  lest  so  manifest  an  infraction  of  all 
law — the  law  of  common  sense  to  begin  witli,  should  raise  a 
revolution  in  Geneva.     I  was  soon  relieved  from  any  antici- 


342  Rousseau's  confessions. 

pation  on  this  score  ;  everything  remained  quiet.  If  there 
was  any  stir  amongst  the  populace,  it  was  against  me,  and  I 
was  publicly  treated  by  the  crew  of  gossips  and  pettifoggers 
like  a  scholar  threatened  with  a  flogging  for  having  missed 
his  catechism. 

These  two  decrees  were  the  signal  for  the  cry  of  maledic- 
tion that  arose  against  me  throughout  all  Europe  with  unex- 
ampled fury.  The  gazettes,  journals  and  pamphlets,  all 
sounded  the  most  terrible  tocsin.  The  French  especially, 
that  mild,  generous,  and  polished  people,  who  so  pique  them- 
selves on  then"  observance  of  the  decorous,  and  their  kind 
protection  of  the  unfortunate,  all  of  a  sudden  forgetting  their 
favorite  virtues,  signalized  themselves  by  the  number  and  vio- 
lence of  the  outrages  with  which  they  to  their  heart's  content 
overwhelmed  me.  I  was  an  impious  person— an  atheist — a 
mad-man — a  wild  beast — a  wolf.  The  continuator  of  the 
Journal  de  Trevonx  came  down  on  my  pretended  '  lycanthropy' 
with  a  virulence  that  very  clearly  manifested  his  own.  Nay,  you 
would  positively  have  said  that  an  author  in  Paris  would  have 
feared  its  being  an  indictable  offence  did  he  publish  aught,  be 
it  what  it  might,  without  cramming  some  insult  or  other  against 
me  into  it.  I  vainly  sought  the  cause  of  this  unanimous 
animosity,  and  was  almost  tempted  to  believe  the  world  had 
gone  mad.  "What  !"  said  I  to  myself,  "  the  editor  of  the 
'  Perpetual  Peace'  spread  discord  ;  the  author  of  the  Savoy- 
ard Vicar  impious  ;  the  man  from  whose  heart  and  head 
came  the  Nouvelle  Heloise  and  the  Eviile  a  wolf  and  a  madman ! 
Gracious  God  1  wliat  would  they  have  made  me  out  had  I 
published  the  treatise,  De  V  Esprit,  or  some  such  work  ?" 
And  yet  in  the  storm  raised  against  the  author  of  that  book, 
the  public,  far  from  joining  its  voice  to  the  clamors  of  his 
persecutors,  avenged  liim  of  them  by  its  high  praise.  Com- 
pare his  book  and  mine  together — the  different  reception 
they  met  with,  the  respective  treatment  of  the  two  authors 
in  the  different  states  of  Europe  ;  and  assign  causes  for  this 
difference  that  will  satisfy  a  man  of  sense  ;  that's  all  I  ask, 
and  I  shall  never  say  a  word  more. 

So  agreeable  did  I  find  hviiig  at  Yvcrdun,  that  I  resolved 
to  yield  to  the  solicitations  of  M.  Roguiu  and  his  family, 
and  take  up  my  residence  among  them.  M.  de  Moiry  de 
Giugins,  Reeve  of    the  town,  also  encouraged  me  by  his 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  XII.       1762.  343 

kindness  to  remain  within  his  jurisdiction.  The  Colonel  so 
warmly  pressed  me  to  accept  for  my  habitation  a  little  pavi- 
hon  he  had  attached  to  the  house,  between  the  court-yard 
and  garden,  that  I  complied  with  his  request,  and  he  immediate- 
ly furnished  it  with  everything  necessary  for  my  little  establish- 
ment. Banneret  Roguin,  one  of  the  persons  who  showed  me 
the  most  assiduous  attention,  did  not  leave  me  for  an  instant 
during  the  whole  day.  I  was  always  very  sensible  to  so  much 
kindness,  though  it  became  positively  pestering  to  me  at  times. 
The  day  on  which  I  was  to  take  possession  of  my  new  habitation 
was  already  fixed,  and  I  had  written  to  Therese  to  come  and  jobi 
me,  when  suddenly  a  storm  arose  against  me  hi  Berne,  which 
was  attributed  to  the  devotees,  and  the  prime  cause  whereof 
I  have  never  been  able  to  learn.  The  senate,  excited  against 
me,  without  my  knowing  by  whom,  did  not  seem  disposed  to 
suffer  me  to  remain  undisturbed  in  my  retreat.  At  the  first 
hint  the  Reeve  got  of  this  rising  storm,  he  wrote  in  my  favor 
to  several  of  the  members  of  the  government,  reproaching  them 
with  their  blind  intolerance,  and  teUing  them  it  was  shame- 
ful to  refuse  an  oppressed  man  of  merit  the  asylum  so  many 
bandits  found  in  their  states.  Prudent  persons  have  since 
thought  that  the  warmth  of  his  reproaches  had  rather  embit- 
tered than  softened  then-  minds.  However  this  may  be,  nei- 
ther his  influence  nor  his  eloquence  were  of  avail  to  ward  off 
the  blow.  Having  received  intimation  of  the  orders  he  was 
to  dispatch  to  me,  he  apprised  me  in  advance  ;  and  that  I 
might  not  wait  its  arrival,  I  resolved  to  set  off  the  next  day. 
The  difficulty  was  to  know  where  to  go  to,  seeing  Geneva 
and  France  were  shut  against  me,  and  foreseeing  that  in 
this  affair  each  State  would  be  anxious  to  imitate  its 
neighbor. 

Madam  Boy  de  la  Tour  proposed  that  I  should  go  and 
reside  in  an  unoccupied,  but  completely  furnished  house,  which 
belonged  to  her  son,  in  the  village  of  Motiers,  in  Yal-de- 
Travers,  county  of  Neufchatel.  There  was  only  a  mountain 
to  cross  to  reach  it.  The  offer  came  all  the  more  opportunely, 
as  in  the  states  of  the  King  of  Prussia  I  might  naturally  hope 
to  be  sheltered  from  all  persecution,  at  least  religion  would 
not  be  vei*y  likely  to  serve  as  a  pretext  therefor.  But  a  se- 
cret drawback  which  it  was  unbefitting  for  me  at  that  mo- 
ment to  divulge,  had  in  it  that  which  was  very  sufficient  to 


344  ROtJSSEAU's  CONFESSIONS. 

make  me  hesitate.  That  in-born  love  of  justice  that  has 
ever  dwelt  enshrined  in  my  inmost  heart,  added  to  my  secret 
inclination  to  France,  had  inspired  me  with  an  aversion  to 
the  King  of  Prussia,  who  seemed  to  me  both  in  his  principles 
and  jDractice  to  trample  on  all  natural  law  and  tread  under 
foot  every  duty  of  humanity.  Amongst  the  framed  engrav- 
ings wherewith  I  had  decorated  my  turret  at  Montmorency, 
was  a  portrait  of  this  prince,  under  which  was  a  distich 
that  finished  thus  : 

II  pcnse  en  philosophe,  et  se  conduit  en  roi. 
(He  thinks  like  a  sage,  and  acts  like  a  king.") 

This  verse,  which,  commg  from  any  other  pen,  would  have 
been  thought  a  very  fine  eulogy,  from  mme  bore  a  sense  in 
no  ways  ambiguous,  and  which,  besides,  the  line  preceding  it 
all  too  clearly  explained.*  This  distich  had  been  seen  by 
everybody  that  came  to  see  me,  no  very  small  number,  I 
assure  you.  The  Chevalier  de  Lorenzy  had  even  copied  it 
to  give  it  to  d'Alembert  ;  and  I  had  no  doubt  but  d'Alem- 
bert  had  taken  care  to  make  my  court  with  it  to  the  prince. 
I  had  also  aggravated  this  first  off'euce  by  a  passage  in  the 
Emik  where,  under  the  name  of  Adrastus,  King  of  the  Dan- 
nians,  it  was  very  evident  whom  I  had  in  view  ;  and  the  re- 
mark had  not  escaped  the  critics,  as  Madam  de  Boufflers 
had  mentioned  the  matter  several  tmies  to  me.  Thus  I  felt 
very  certain  of  being  inscribed  with  red  ink  on  the  registers 
of  the  King  of  Prussia;  and,  besides,  supposing  he  had  che- 
rished the  principles  I  had  ventured  to  attribute  to  him,  my 
writings  and  their  author  could  not  but  thereby  have  dis- 
pleased him  :  for  it  is  well  known  that  tyrants  and  evil-doers 
have  ever  entertained  the  most  mortal  hatred  against  me, 
even  without  knowing  me,  and  solely  from  reading  my  works. 
I  ventured,  however,  to  throw  myself  upon  his  mercy,  and 
anticipated  running  very  little  risk.  I  knew  that  base  pas- 
sions scarce  ever  enslave  any  but  weak  men,  and  take  but 
small  hold  of  great  souls,  such  as  I  had  always  judged  his. 
I  esteemed  he  would  make  it  part  of  his  policy  as  a  ruler  to 

*  '"'he  line  was, 

La  gloire,  I'interet,  voila  son  Dieu,  sa  loi. 

(Gloiy,  liis  God ;  self-interest,  his  law.) 
It  did  not  precede  the  line  cited  iu  the  text.     This  latter  line  was  at 
the  lout  of  the  portrait,  the  otiier  one  was  written  on  the  back.     Tr. 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  XII.     1762.  345 

show  himself  magnanimous  on  such  an  occasion  ;  nay,  I 
thought  it  was  in  him  to  be  so,  any  way.  I  thought  a  low 
and  facile  vengeance  would  never  for  a  momeut  outweigh 
his  love  of  glory  ;  and,  judging  from  my  own  nature,  I 
thought  it  not  impossible  that  he  might  take  advantage  of 
the  opportunity  to  overwhelm  with  the  weight  of  his  generos- 
ity a  man  who  had  dared  to  think  ill  of  him.  Accordingly, 
I  went  and  settled  down  at  Motiers,  with  a  confidence  I  felt 
he  would  duly  appreciate,  aud  said  to  myself  :  'When  Jean 
Jacques  rises  to  the  height  of  Coriolauus,  will  Frederic  allow 
himself  to  be  eclipsed  by  the  General  of  the  Yolsci  ?' 

Colonel  Roguin  insisted  on  crossing  the  mountain  with 
me,  and  going  aud  installing  me  at  Motiers.  A  sister-in-law 
of  Madame  Boy  de  la  Tour's,  named  Madame  Girardier,  to 
whom  the  house  in  which  I  was  going  to  live  was  very  con- 
venient, felt  no  very  great  pleasure  at  my  arrival ;  however, 
she  put  me  in  possession  of  my  quarters  with  a  good  grace, 
and  I  boarded  with  her  until  Theresa  came,  and  my  httle 
establishment  was  arranged. 

Realizing,  on  leaving  Montmorency  that  I  should  thence- 
forth be  a  fugitive  upon  the  earth,  I  hesitated  about  permitting 
her  to  come  and  share  the  wandering  life  to  which  I  felt  I  was 
fated.  I  felt  that  the  catastrophe  that  had  befallen  me  must 
change  our  relation  to  each  other,  and  that  what  had  hitherto 
been  a  favor  and  a  kindness  on  my  part,  would  henceforth  be- 
come so  on  hers.  If  her  attachment  remained  proof  agaiust  mis- 
fortune, her  heart  must  stUl  be  wrung  thereby,  while  her  grief 
would  add  new  poignancy  to  my  woes.  Should  my  disgrace 
weaken  her  affections,  she  would  be  holding  up  her  constancy  as 
a  sacrifice  ;  and  instead  of  feehng  the  pleasure  I  had  in  divid- 
ing with  her  my  last  morsel  of  bread,  she  would  feel  naught 
but  how  meritorious  it  was  in  her  to  follow  me  withersoever 
fate  drove  me. 

Nay,  I  must  out  with  it : 

I  have  neither  dissimulated  my  poor  Maman^s  vices  nor 
my  own.  Nor  must  I  show  Therese  any  more  favor  ;  and 
whatever  pleasure  I  may  have  in  doiug  honor  to  one  so  dear 
to  me,  no  more  will  I  disguise  her  failings,  if  indeed  you  can  so 
call  an  involuntary  change  of  aflectiou.  I  had  long  per- 
ceived that  her  love  had  in  a  measure  grown  cold  and  that 
■slh'  was  no  longer  what  she  had  been  to  me  in  our  youuger 
II.  15* 


346  Rousseau's  confessions. 

days.  Of  this  I  was  all  the  more  keenly  alive  as  my  feelmgs 
towards  her  had  not  changed  a  whit.  I  felt  the  same  dis- 
appointment, the  same  falling  off  with  Therese  as  I  had  with 
Maman.  But  why  go  seeking  after  supermundane  perfect- 
ions :  it  would  be  precisely  the  same  with  any  woman  what- 
ever. The  manner  in  which  I  had  disposed  of  my  children, 
however  sensible  it  had  appeared  to  me,  had  not  always  left 
my  mind  at  ease.  While  writing  my  Treatise  an  Education, 
I  felt  I  had  neglected  duties  from  which  no  considerations 
could  free  me.  Remorse  at  length  became  so  powerful  that 
it  almost  forced  from  me  a  pubhc  confession  of  my  fault  at 
the  beginning  of  the  '  Emile,''  and  the  allusion  is  so  evident 
that  it  is  astonishing  any  one  could,  after  such  a  passage, 
have  the  heart  to  reproach  me  therewith.  *  My  situation 
was,  however,  still  the  same,  or  rather  something  worse,  from 
the  animosity  of  my  enemies,  who  hailed  every  opportunity 
to  fasten  faults  or  failings  on  me.  I  feared  a  second  fall  ; 
and,  unwilling  to  run  the  risk,  I  preferred  to  condemn  my- 
self to  abstinence  to  exposing  Therese  to  get  in  the  same 
predicament  again.  I  had  besides  remarked  that  connection 
with  women  was  prejudicial  to  my  health  :  this  double  rea- 
son had  led  me  to  form  resolutions  to  which  I  had  not,  at 
times,  adhered  over  well,  but  wherein  I  had  for  three  or 
four  years  back  persisted  with  greater  constancy.  Now,  it 
was  within  this  period  that  I  had  observed  Therese's  cool- 
ness :  she  had  the  same  attachment  to  me  from  duty,  but  none 
now  from  love.  This  necessarily  made  our  intercourse  less 
agreeable,  and  I  imagined  that  if  certain  of  the  continuation 
of  my  attention  and  solicitude  wherever  she  might  be,  she 
might  prefer  to  stay  in  Paris  rather  than  wander  around 
with  me.  Still  she  had  manifested  such  signs  of  grief  at  our 
parting,  had  required  of  me  such  positive  promises  that  she 
should  join  me,  and  had  since  my  departure,  expressed  to 
Prince  de  Conti  and  M.  de  Luxembourg  so  strong  a  desire 

*  Here  is  the  passage  ('Emile''  Book  1.)  :  "  When  a  father  begets  and 
brings  up  chililrcn,  lie  but  does  a  third  of  his  task  .  .  .  The  man  that 
cannot  fullill  the  duties  of  a  father,  has  no  right  to  be  a  father.  There 
is  neither  toil  nor  poverty  nor  any  earthly  consideration  that  can  ab- 
solve a  man  from  supporting  and  bring  up  his  children  himself.  Rea- 
der, you  may  believe  me,  1  predict  that  whoever  has  tiowels  of  compassion 
and  neglects  the  performance  of  duties  so  sacred,  shall  long  shed  bitter 
tears  over  his  error,  and  never  lind  consolation."     Tr. 


PERIOD  11.      BOOK  XII.      1762.  34T 

to  do  so  that,  in  place  of  having  the  courage  to  speak  to  her 
of  a  separation,  I  had  scarce  enough  to  think  of  it  myself ; 
and  after  having  felt  in  my  heart  how  impossible  it  was  for 
me  to  do  without  her,  my  only  thought  now  was  to  have  her 
come  on  as  soon  as  possible.  Accordingly  I  wrote  her  to 
come  ;  she  came.  It  was  scarcely  two  months  since  we 
had  parted  ;  but  it  was  our  first  separation  after  a  union  of 
so  many  years.  We  had  both  of  us  felt  it  most  bitterly. 
What  emotion  at  our  first  embrace  !  0  how  delightful  are 
the  tears  of  tenderness  and  joy  !  How  my  heart  bathes 
therein  !     Why  have  they  made  me  shed  so  few  such  ? 

On  my  arrival  at  Motiers  I  had  written  to  my  Lord 
Keith,  a  Scottish  Marshal,  and  Governor  of  Xeufchatel,  in- 
forming him  of  my  retreat  into  the  States  of  his  Prussian 
Majesty,  and  requesting  his  protection.  He  answered  me 
with  his  well  kno-mi  generosity  ;  answered  as  I  had  expected 
of  him.  He  invited  me  to  come  and  see  him.  I  went  with 
M.  Martinet,  '  C/tafelain'  (lord  of  the  manor)  of  Val-de- 
Travers,  who  was  in  great  favor  with  his  Excellency.  The 
venerable  appearance  of  this  illustrious  and  virtuous  Scotch- 
man, profoundly  affected  me,  and  from  that  instant  began 
between  us  the  strong  attachment,  which  on  my  part  still 
remains  the  same,  and  would  have  done  so  on  his,  had  not 
the  traitors  who  have  deprived  me  of  all  the  consolations  of 
life,  taken  advantage  of  our  subsequent  separation  to  deceive 
his  old  age  and  debase  me  in  his  eyes. 

George  Keith,  Hereditary  Marshal  of  Scotland,  and 
brother  of  the  famous  General  Keith  who  led  a  life  of  glory 
and  died  on  the  bed  of  honour,  had  quitted  his  country  at  a 
very  early  age,  and  was  proscribed  on  account  of  his  attach- 
ment to  the  house  of  Stuart,  with  which,  however,  he  soon 
became  disgusted  from  the  uujust  and  tyrannical  spirit  which 
he  observed  possessed  it,  and  which  was  always  its  dominant 
characteristic.  He  lived  a  long  time  in  Spain,  the  climate 
of  which  pleased  him  exceedingly,  and  at  length,  as  his 
brother  had  done,  entered  the  service  of  the  King  of  Prussia, 
who  was  a  keen  judge  of  men  and  duly  appreciated  and  i"e- 
warded  merit.  And  well  was  he  repaid  in  the  very  great 
services  rendered  him  by  Marshal  Keith,  and,  what  was  ia- 
finitely  more  precious,  the  sincere  friendship  of  my  Lord 
Marshal.    The  great  soul  of  this  noble  man,  all  haughty  and 


348  Rousseau's  confessions. 

republican  as  it  was,  would  beud  to  no  yoke  save  that  of 
ft'iendship  ;  but  to  this  it  was  so  obedient,  that,  different 
though  their  principles  were,  no  sooner  had  he  become  at- 
tached to  Frederic,  than  he  became  his  all  in  all.  The  King 
entrusted  him  with  affairs  of  importance,  sent  him  to  Paris, 
to  Spain,  and  at  length,  seeing  he  had  grown  old  with  ser- 
vice and  needed  rest,  let  him  retire  with  the  government  of 
Neufchatel,  and  the  delightful  employment  of  passing  the  re- 
mainder of  his  life  in  rendering  this  little  community  happy. 

The  Neufchatelese,  hugely  attached  to  gab  and  glitter,  un- 
skilled to  distinguish  genuine  merit,  and  estimating  one's  wit 
by  the  length  of  his  phrases,  seemg  a  sedate  and  simple  man, 
took  his  simplicity  for  haughtiness,  his  frankness  for  rusticity, 
his  laconicism  for  stupidity,  and  rejected  his  kind  intentions, 
because,  desirous  of  doing  them  sohd  service  instead  of  indul- 
ging in  empty  babbling,  he  knew  not  how  to  flatter  people 
he  did  not  esteem.  In  the  farcical  affair  of  parson  Petit- 
pierre,  who  was  displaced  by  his  colleagues  for  having  been 
unwilling  they  should  be  eternally  damned,  my  Lord  having 
opposed  the  usurpations  of  the  ministers,  saw  the  whole 
country,  whose  pai't  he  took,  roused  against  him  ;  and  when 
I  arrived,  the  stupid  stu'  had  not  entirely  subsided.  He 
passed,  at  least,  for  a  man  who  allowed  himself  to  be  preju- 
diced, and  of  all  the  imputations  laid  to  his  charge,  this  was 
perhaps  the  least  unjust.  My  first  feeling  on  seeing  this 
venerable  old  man,  was  tender  commiseration  on  account  of 
his  extreme  leanness  of  body,  years  having  already  left  him 
little  else  but  skin  and  bone  ;  but  when  I  raised  my  eyes  to 
his  animated,  open,  and  noble  countenance,  I  felt  a  respect, 
mingled  with  confidence,  that  absorbed  every  other  feeling. 
To  the  brief  compliment  I  made  him  on  first  entermg  his 
presence,  he  replied  by  speaking  of  something  else,  as  though 
I  had  been  with  him  for  a  week.  He  did  not  even  bid  us 
sit  down.  The  dull-witted  'Chatelain'  remained  standing. 
For  my  part,  I  at  first  sight  saw  in  the  keen,  piercing  eye 
of  his  lordship  something  so  conciliating  that,  feeling  myself 
entirely  at  my  ease,  I  unceremoniously  went  and  took  a  seat 
by  his  side  on  the  sofa.  From  tlie  familiarity  of  his  manner,  I 
hnmediately  perceived  that  the  liberty  I  took  gave  him  pleas- 
ure, and  that  he  said  to  himself,  'This  is  not  a  Neufchatelese  1' 

How  wonderful  the  effect  of  affinity  of  character  !     At  an 


PERIOD  11.    BOOK  XII.      1T62.  349 

age  when  the  heart  loses  its  natural  warmth,  this  good  old 
man's  kindled  anew  and  burst  into  a  flame  of  friendship  for 
me  that  sm'prised  every  body.  He  came  to  see  me  at  Mo- 
tiers  under  the  pretence  of  quail-shooting,  and  staid  two  days 
without  touching  a  gun.  Such  a  friendship — for  that  is  the 
■^ord — ^grew  up  between  us  that  we  knew  not  how  to  hve 
separate  :  the  Chateau  de  Colombier,  where  he  used  to  pass 
the  summer,  was  some  sis  leagues  distant  from  Motiers. 
Thither  1  went  every  fortnight  at  farthest  making  a  stay  of 
twenty-four  hours,  and  then  returning,  pilgrim-wise,  my 
heart  full  of  affection  for  my  host.  The  emotion  I  had 
formerly  experienced  in  my  journeys  from  the  Hermitage 
to  Eaubonne,  was  certainly  very  different,  but  it  was  not 
more  pleasmg  than  that  with  which  I  approached  Colombier. 
What  tears  of  tenderness  have  I  many  a  time  shed, 
when  on  the  road  thither,  while  thinking  of  the  paternal 
goodness,  amiable  virtues,  and  charming  philosophy  of  this 
venerable  old  man  !  I  called  him  '  father,'  and  he  called  me 
'child'  {enfant.)  These  affectionate  names  express  in  some 
measure,  the  attachment  that  united  us,  but  they  give  no  idea 
of  the  want  we  felt  of  each  others  company,  nor  our  con- 
tinual desire  to  be  together.  He  would  have  me  come  and 
lodge  at  the  Chateau  de  Colombier,  and  for  a  long  time 
pressed  me  to  take  up  my  residence  in  the  apartment  in 
which  I  was  in  the  habit  of  staying  during  my  visits.  I  at 
length  told  him  I  was  more  free  and  at  my  ease  in  my  own 
house,  and  that  I  had  rather  continued  until  the  end  of  my 
Ufe  to  come  and  see  him.  He  approved  of  my  candor,  and 
never  afterwards  spoke  to  me  upon  the  subject.  Oh,  my 
good  lord  !  Oh,  my  worthy  father  !  How  is  my  heart 
stirred  within  me  when  thinking  of  you  I  Ah  I  barbarous 
wretches  !  how  deeply  did  they  wound  me  when  they 
deprived  me  of  your  friendship  !  But  no,  great  man,  you 
are  and  ever  will  be  the  same  to  me,  who  am  ever  the 
same.     They  deceived  but  could  not  change  you. 

My  Lord  Marshal  is  not  without  his  faults  ;  he  is  a  sage 
but,  still  he  is  a  man.  With  the  greatest  penetration,  the 
nicest  discrimination,  and  the  most  profound  knowledge  of 
human  nature,  he  sometimes  suffers  himself  to  be  deceived, 
and  he  never  recovers  from  his  error  His  temper  is  very 
singular,  and  foreign  to  his   general   turn  of   mind.     He 


350  Rousseau's  confessions. 

seems  to  forget  the  people  he  sees  every  day,  and  thinks  of 
them  in  a  moment  when  they  least  expect  it  ;  his  attentions 
seem  ill-timed  ;  his  presents  are  dictated  by  caprice  and  not 
by  propriety,  He  gives  or  sends  on  the  impulse  of  the 
moment  whatever  conies  into  his  head,  be  the  value  thereof 
ever  so  great,  or  ever  so  small,  it  matters  not.  A  young 
Genevese,  desirous  of  entering  into  the  Prussian  service, 
made  a  personal  application  to  him  ;  his  lordship,  instead 
of  giving  him  a  letter,  gave  him  a  little  bag  of  peas,  which 
he  desired  him  to  carry  to  the  king.  On  receiving  this 
singular  recommendation  his  majesty  instantly  gave  the 
bearer  a  commission.  These  high  geniuses  have  their  own 
private  language  which  the  vulgar  will  never  understand. 
These  little  bizarreries,  not  unlike  the  caprice  of  a  beautiful 
woman ,  but  rendered  my  Lord  Marshal  still  more  interest- 
ing to  me.  I  felt  very  sure — and  of  this  I  had  afterwards 
abundant  proofs — that  they  had  not  the  least  influence  on 
his  sentiments,  nor  did  it  affect  the  duties  prescribed  by 
friendship  on  serious  occasions.  Yet  in  his  mode  of  oblig- 
ing there  is  the  same  singularity  as  in  his  manners.  Of 
this  I  will  give  a  single  instance  touching  a  very  trivial 
matter.  Tlie  journey  from  Motiers  to  Colombiers  being  too 
long  for  me  to  perform  in  one  day,  I  commonly  divided  it 
by  setting  off  after  dinner  and  sleeping  at  Brot,  situated  at 
about  midway  between  the  two  points.  The  landlord  of  the 
house  where  I  stopped,  named  Sandoz,  having  a  favor  of 
importance  to  him  to  solicit  at  Berlin,  begged  I  would 
request  his  Excellency  to  ask  it  on  his  behalf.  "  Most 
willingly,"  said  I  ;  so  I  took  him  along  with  me.  Leaving 
him  in  the  anti-chamber  I  mentioned  the  matter  to  his 
lordship,  who  returned  me  no  answer.  After  passing  the 
whole  morning  with  him,  I  saw  poor  Sandoz,  as  I  was 
crossing  the  hall  to  go  to  dinner,  tired  to  death  with  wait- 
ing. Thinking  the  Governor  had  forgotten  what  I  had 
said  to  hirn,  I  again  referred  to  the  matter  before  we  sat 
down  to  table  ;  but  still  received  no  answer.  I  thought 
this  manner  of  making  me  feel  my  importunateness  rather 
severe,  and  pitying  the  poor  man  for  having  to  wait,  held 
my  tongue.  On  my  return  the  next  day  I  was  much  sur- 
prised at  the  thanks  he  returned  me  for  the  kind  reception 
and  the  capital  dinner  he  had  at  his  Excellency's  who,  more- 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  XII.       1162.  351 

over,  had  received  his  paper.  Three  weeks  afterwards  his 
lordship  sent  him  the  rescript  he  had  solicited,  dispatched 
by  the  minister,  and  signed  by  the  king  ;  and  this  without 
having  said  a  word  either  to  myself  or  Sandoz  concerning  the 
business,  about  which  I  thought  he  had  beeu  unwilling  to 
give  himself  the  least  concern. 

Most  loath  I  am  to  leave  off  speaking  of  George  Keith  : 
with  him  are  connected  my  last  happy  recollections.  My 
subsequent  life  has  been  but  one  long  series  of  afflictions 
and  heart-pangs.  So  sad  is  the  remembrance  thereof  and 
so  confusedly  does  it  come  back  that  it  is  impossible  for  me 
to  observe  the  least  order  in  my  recital :  I  shall  in  future 
be  under  the  necessity  of  stating  my  facts  at  hap-hazard 
and  as  they  come  up. 

I  was  soon  relieved  fi*om  any  disquietude  as  to  whether  I 
would  be  allowed  to  remain  in  my  present  asylum  or  not,  by 
his  Majesty's  answer  to  my  Lord  Marshal,  in  whom,  as  may 
be  supposed,  I  had  found  an  able  advocate.  The  Kmg  not 
only  ajjproved  of  what  he  had  done,  but  desired  hun  (for  I 
must  out  with  it)  to  give  me  twelve  louis.  The  good  old 
man,  rather  embarrassed  by  the  commission,  and  not  know- 
ing how  to  execute  it  properly,  endeavored  to  soften  the  in- 
sult by  transforming  the  money  into  provisions,  and  -miting 
to  me  that  he  had  received  orders  to  furnish  me  with  wood 
and  coal  to  begin  my  little  establishment  :  he  moreover 
added,  of  his  own  motion,  I  guess,  that  his  Majesty  would  glad- 
ly have  me  a  Httle  house  after  my  fancy  built,  if  I  would  fix 
upon  the  ground.  This  latter  offer  deeply  affected  me,  and 
made  me  forget  the  beggarliuess  of  the  other.  Without  ac- 
cepting either,  I  considered  Frederic  as  my  benefactor  and 
protector,  and  became  so  sincerely  attached  to  him  that,  from 
that  moment,  I  interested  myself  as  much  in  liis  glory  as  I 
had  hitherto  thought  his  successes  unjust.  On  nis  declaring 
peace  soon  after,  I  expressed  my  joy  by  a  very  tasty  illumina- 
tion :  this  was  a  string  of  garlands  with  which  I  decorated 
the  house  I  inhabited,  and  on  which,  it  is  true,  I  had  the  vin- 
dictive pride  to  spend  almost  as  much  money  as  he  had 
wished  to  give  mc.  The  peace  ratified,  I  thought,  as  he  was 
at  the  highest  pinnacle  of  mihtary  and  political  fome,  he 
would  think  of  acquiring  that  of  another  nature,  by  re- 
animating his  states,  encouraging  commerce  and  agriculture, 


352  Rousseau's  confessions. 

creating  a  new  soil,  covering  it  with  a  new  people,  maintain- 
ing peace  among  his  neighbors,  and  becoming  the  arbitrator, 
after  having  been  the  terror  of  Em'ope.  He  could  well  af- 
ford to  sheath  his  sword  without  danger,  certain  of  not  being 
obliged  to  draw  it  again.  Perceiving  he  did  not  disarm,  I 
was  alraid  he  would  profit  but  little  by  the  advantages  he 
had  gained,  and  be  only  half  great.  I  ventured  to  write 
to  him  on  the  subject,  and,  assuming  the  familiar  tone 
calculated  to  please  men  of  his  stamp,  addressed  him  in  the 
sacred  voice  of  truth,  which  so  few  kings  are  worthy  to  hear. 
The  Hberty  I  took  was  a  secret  between  him  and  myself.  I 
did  not  communicate  it  even  to  my  Lord  Marshal,  to  whom 
I  sent  my  letter  to  the  King,  sealed  up.  His  lordship  for- 
warded my  dispatch,  without  asking  what  it  contained. 
The  King  returned  me  no  answer,  and  on  a  visit  my  Lord 
Marshal  shortly  after  made  to  Berlin,  he  simply  told  him  I 
had  given  him  a  devilish  scolding.  By  this  I  understood  my 
letter  had  been  ill-received,  and  that  the  frankness  of  my 
zeal  had  been  mistaken  for  the  rusticity  of  a  pedant.  At 
bottom  this  might  possibly  have  been  so  :  jierhaps  I  did  not 
say  what  I  ought,  perhaps  I  did  not  say  it  in  the  right  man- 
ner. All  I  can  answer  for  is  the  sentiment  that  induced  me 
to  take. up  my  pen. 

Shortly  after  my  establishment  at  Motiers-Travers,  hav- 
ing every  possible  assurance  I  should  be  suffered  to  remain 
there  in  peace,  I  assumed  the  Armenian  dress.  This  was 
not  the  first  time  I  had  thought  of  doing  so.  I  had  formerly 
had  the  same  intention,  particularly  at  Montmorency,  where 
the  frequent  use  of  probes  often  obliging  me  to  keep  my 
chamber,  made  me  more  clearly  perceive  the  advantages  of 
a  long  robe.  The  convenience  of  an  Armenian  taUor,  who 
frequently  came  to  see  a  relation  he  had  at  Montmorency, 
almost  tempted  me  to  determine  on  adopting  this  new  dress, 
troubling  myself  but  little  about  what  the  world  would  say 
of  it.  However,  before  I  concluded  upon  the  matter,  I 
wished  to  take  the  opinion  of  Madam  de  Luxembourg,  who 
strongly  advised  me  to  follow  my  inclination.  Accordingly  I 
procured  me  a  httlc  Armenian  wardrobe  ;  but  the  storm 
raised  against  me  made  me  postpone  making  use  of  it  until 
calmer  times,  and  it  was  not  until  some  mouths  afterwards 
that,  forced  by  new  attacks  of  my  disorder,  I  thought  I  could 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  XII.      1*162.  353 

properly,  and  without  the  least  risk,  put  on  my  new  dress  at 
JMotiers,  especially  after  having  consulted  the  pastor  of  the 
place,  who  told  me  I  might  wear  it  even  to  church  without 
scandal.  I  then  adopted  the  waistcoat,  caffetan,  fiu"  bonnet, 
and  girdle  ;  and  after  having  attended  divine  service  in  this 
dress,  I  saw  no  impropriety  in  going  in  it  to  visit  my  Lord 
Marshal.  His  Excellency,  on  seeing  me  clothed  in  this 
manner,  said  nothing  in  the  way  of  compliment  but  Salamah 
iki;  after  which  nothing  more  was  said  upon  the  subject, 
and  I  wore  no  other  dress.  •  -•  -  -   -   .    ;  :'    •    ^ 

Having  quite  abandoned  literature,  my  sole  though'^  ni6w 
was  to  lead  as  quiet  and  pleasant  a  life  as  I  could.  When 
alone,  I  have  never  felt  weariness  of  mind,  not  even  in  com- 
plete inaction;  my  imagination,  filling  up  every  void,  was  suf- 
ficient to  keep  up  my  attention.  There  is  but  the  idle  gab  and 
gossip  of  the  parlor,  the  company  seated  opposite  each  other 
with  nothing  to  do  but  keep  up  an  eternal  tongue-wagging,  I 
never  could  stand.  When  walking  or  rambhng  about,  it  is  all 
very  well, — the  feet  and  eyes  at  least  have  something  to  do  ; 
but  to  sit  with  folded  arms,  discanting  away  on  the  state  of 
the  weather,  or  tlie  flight  of  the  flies,  or,  what  is  still  worse, 
exchanghig  compliments,  is  to  me  the  most  horrible  of  tor- 
ments. That  I  might  not  hve  like  a  savage,  I  took  it  into 
my  head  to  learn  to  make  laces.  Like  the  women,  I  car- 
ried my  cushion  with  me  when  I  went  to  pay  a  visit,  or  sat 
down  to  work  at  my  door,  and  chatted  with  the  passers-by. 
This  enabled  me  the  better  to  support  the  inanity  of  chit- 
chat, as  also  to  pass  the  tune  at  my  neighbors  without  weari- 
ness. Several  of  these  were  very  amiable,  and  not  devoid 
of  mind.  Among  others  was  Isabella  d'lvernois,  daughter 
of  the  Attorney-General  of  Xeufchatel,  whom  I  found  so  es- 
timable as  to  induce  me  to  form  a  most  intimate  friendship 
with  her,  from  which  she  derived  some  advantage,  from  the 
useful  advice  I  gave  her  and  the  services  she  received  from  me 
oh  occasions  of  importance,  so  that  now,  a  worthy  and  virtu- 
ous mother  of  a  family,  she  is  perhaps  indebted  to  me  for  her 
reason,  her  husband,  her  Hfe  and  happiness.  On  my  part,  I 
owe  her  much  sweet  consolation,  particularly  during  a  sad 
winter,  through  the  whole  of  which,  when  my  sufferings  were 
at  the  worst,  she  used  to  come  and  pass  the  long  evenings 
with  Therese  and  me,  and  she  knew  well  how  to  make  them 


354  Rousseau's  confessions. 

appear  very  short  to  us  by  her  agreeable  conversation,  and 
our  mutual  openness  of  heart.  She  called  me  'papa/  and  I 
called  her  '  daughter/  and  these  names,  which  we  still  give 
each  other,  will,  I  hope,  continue  to  be  as  dear  to  her  as  they 
are  to  me.  That  my  laces  might  be  good  for  something,  I 
gave  them  to  my  young  female  friends  at  their  marriage, 
upon  condition  of  their  suckhng  then-  children.  Isabella's 
eldest  sister  had  one  upon  these  terms,  and  well  deserved  it 
by  her  observance  of  them  ;  Isabella  herself  also  received 
another,  which,  as  far  as  intention  went,  she  as  fully  merited; 
but  the  happiness  of  being  able  to  carry  out  her  design  was 
not  granted  her.  When  I  sent  them  theh"  laces  I  wrote  each 
of  them  a  letter,  the  first  of  which  has  gone  the  round  of 
pubUcity  many  times  over.  The  same  fame  did  not  attend 
the  second  :  friendship  does  not  proceed  with  such  celebrity. 

Amongst  the  intimacies  I  formed  in  my  neighborhood, 
(^and  into  the  detail  of  which  I  shall  not  enter)  I  ought  to 
note  my  connection  with  Colonel  Pury,  who  had  a  house  upon 
the  mountain,  where  he  used  to  come  and  pass  the  summer. 
I  was  not  anxious  to  form  his  acquaintance,  as  I  knew  he 
was  very  much  out  of  favor  at  court,  and  on  bad  terms  with 
my  Lord  Marshal,  whom  he  did  not  visit.  However,  as  he 
came  to  see  me  and  was  very  kind  and  civil,  I  felt  it  incum- 
bent on  me  to  go  and  see  him  in  my  turn  ;  this  was  repeated, 
and  we  sometimes  dined  with  each  other.  At  his  house  I 
became  acquainted  with  M.  Du  Perou  with  whom  I  after- 
wards formed  too  intimate  a  friendship  to  allow  me  to  pass 
over  his  name  in  silence. 

M.  Du  Perou  was  an  American,  son  of  a  commandant  of 
Surinam,  whose  successor,  M.  le  Chambrier,  of  Neufchatel, 
married  his  widow.  Left  a  widow  a  second  time,  she  came 
with  her  son  to  live  in  the  countiy  of  her  second  husband. 
Du  Perou,  an  only  son,  very  rich,  and  tenderly  beloved  by 
his  mother,  had  been  carefully  brought  up,  and  his  education 
had  |)rofited  him.  He  had  acquired  quite  a  deal  of  superfi- 
cial knowledge,  some  taste  for  the  arts,  and  specially  piqued 
himself  on  his  having  cultivated  his  reason.  His  Dutch  ap- 
pearance, cold  and  philosophic,  his  tawny  complexion,  and 
staid  and  silent  disposition,  quite  favored  this  opinion.  Al- 
though young,  he  was  already  deaf  and  gouty.  This  ren- 
dered all  his  motions  deliberate  and  very  grave,  and  although 


PERIOD  11.      BOOK  XII.      1762.  355 

he  was  fond  of  disputing,  he  in  general  spoke  but  little,  as 
his  hearing  was  bad.  I  was  struck  with  his  exterior,  and 
said  to  myself,  '  Here  is  a  thinker,  a  man  of  wisdom,  such  a 
one  as  any  body  would  be  happy  to  have  for  a  friend.'  To 
put  the  finishing  touch  to  my  favorable  opinion,  he  frequently 
addressed  me,  without  paying  me  the  least  compliment.  He 
spoke  but  little  to  me  of  myself  or  my  books,  and  still  less  of 
himself ;  he  was  not  destitute  of  ideas,  and  what  he  said  was 
always  true  enough.  This  balance  and  equality  attracted 
me.  He  had  neither  the  elevation  of  mind  nor  the  discrimi- 
nation of  my  Lord  Marshal,  but  he  had  all  his  simphcity  ; 
this  was  still  representing  him  in  something.  I  did  not  be- 
come infatuated  with  him,  but  grew  attached  to  him  from 
esteem,  and  little  by  little  this  esteem  led  to  friendship.  I 
quite  forgot  with  him  the  objection  I  made  to  Baron  d'Hol- 
bach — that  he  was  too  rich  ;  and  herein  I  think  I  was  wrong. 
I  have  learned  to  doubt  the  possibility  of  a  rich  man's  sin- 
cerely loving  my  principles  or  their  author. 

For  a  long  time  I  saw  but  little  of  Du  Perou,  as  I  did 
not  go  to  Neufchatel,  and  he  came  but  once  a  year  to  Colo- 
nel Fury's  mountain.  Why  did  I  not  go  to  Neufchatel  ?  It 
arose  from  a  piece  of  puerUity  I  must  not  pass  over  in 
silence. 

Although  protected  by  the  King  of  Prussia,  and  my 
Lord  Marshal,  if  I  escaped  persecution  in  my  asylum,  I  did 
not  escape  the  murmurs  of  the  public,  municipal  magistrates 
and  the  ministers.  After  the  course  France  had  taken,  it 
would  not  have  been  fashionable  not  to  insult  me  :  a  people 
would  have  been  afraid  to  seem  to  disapprove  of  what  my 
persecutors  had  done  by  not  imitating  them.  The 
'  Classe '  of  Neufchatel,  that  is,  the  body  of  ministers  of  that 
city,  gave  the  impulse,  by  endeavoring  to  move  the  CouncU 
of  State  against  me.  This  attempt  not  having  succeeded, 
the  ministers  addressed  themselves  to  the  municipal  magis- 
trate, who  immediately  prohibited  my  book,  treating  me  on 
all  occasions  with  but  httle  civility,  giving  it  to  be  understood 
and  saying  even,  that  had  I  attempted  to  take  up  my  resi- 
dence in  the  city,  I  should  not  have  been  suffered  to  do  it. 
They  filled  their  'Mcrmre!  with  a  parcel  of  rubbish  and  the 
most  stupid  hypocrisy,  which,  although  it  made  every  man 
of  sense  laugh,  did  not  fail  rousmg  the  people  and  stirring 


356  Rousseau's  confessions. 

them  up  against  me.  This,  however,  did  not  prevent  them 
from  setting  forth  tliat  I  ought  to  be  very  grateful  for  their 
permitting  me  to  live  at  Motiers,  where  they  had  no  author- 
ity whatever  ;  they  would  willingly  have  measured  me  the 
air  by  the  pint — provided  I  had  paid  well  for  it.  They 
would  have  it  that  I  was  obliged  to  them  for  the  protection 
the  King  granted  me  in  spite  of  the  efforts  they  incessantly 
made  to  deprive  me  of  it.  Finally,  this  dodge  not  succeed- 
ing, after  having  done  me  all  the  injury  they  could,  and  de- 
famed me  to  the  utmost  of  theu*  powers,  they  made  a  merit 
of  their  impotence,  and  boasted  of  their  goodness  in  suffering 
me  to  stay  in  their  country.  I  ought  to  have  laughed  in 
their  face  for  sole  reply  :  I  was  foolish  enough  to  be  vexed  at 
them,  and  had  the  weakness  to  determine  not  to  go  to  ^euf- 
chiltel,  a  determination  I  kept  up  for  almost  two  years,  as  if 
it  was  not  doing  such  wretches  too  much  honor  to  pay  at- 
tention to  then"  proceedings,  which,  good  or  bad,  could  not 
be  imputed  to  them,  because  they  never  act  but  from  outside 
influence.  Besides,  minds  without  sense  or  culture,  whose 
sole  objects  of  esteem  are  influence,  power,  and  money,  are 
far  from  imaghiing  even,  that  some  little  respect  is  due  to 
talents,  and  that  it  is  infamous  to  outrage  and  insult  them, 

A  certain  Mayor  of  a  village,  who  for  sundry  misdemean- 
ors had  been  deprived  of  his  office,  said  to  the  Lieutenant 
of  Yal-de-Travers,  the  husband  of  my  Isabella  :  /  am  told 
this  Rousseau  has  such  wit  ;  bring  him  to  me  till  I  see,  if  ifs 
true.  Surely  the  disapprobation  of  that  sort  of  a  chicken 
ought  to  have  no  great  effect  on  its  object. 

After  the  treatment  I  had  received  at  Paris,  Geneva, 
Berne,  and  even  at  Neufchatel,  I  expected  no  favor  from 
the  pastor  of  this  place.  I  had,  however,  been  recommended 
to  him  by  Madam  Boy  de  La  Tour,  and  he  had  given  me  a 
good  reception  ;  but  in  that  country  where  every  new  comer 
is  indiscriminately  flattered,  civilities  signify  but  little.  How- 
ever, after  my  solemn  union  with  the  Reformed  Church,  and 
living  in  a  Protestant  country,  I  could  not,  without  faihng 
in  my  engagements,  as  well  as  in  the  duty  of  a  citizen,  neg- 
lect the  public  profession  of  the  religion  I  had  embraced.  I 
therefore  attended  divine  service.  On  the  other  hand,  I 
feared,  if  I  went  to  the  holy  taljle,  receiving  the  affront  of 
a  refusal ;  and  it  was  in  no  wise  probable,  that,  after  the 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  511.       1762.  357 

tumult  excited  at  Geneva  by  the  council,  and  at  Xeufcbatel 
by  the  '  Classe '  he  would  freely  administer  the  sacrament  to 
me  in  his  church.  The  season  of  communion,  then,  being  at 
hand,  I  wrote  to  M.  de  Montmolhu  (the  name  of  the  minis- 
ter), performing  a  free-will  act,  and  declaring  that  my  whole 
heart  was  still  with  the  Protestant  Church.  At  the  same 
time,  in  order  to  avoid  all  disputing  upon  articles  of  faith, 
I  told  him  I  would  have  no  sectarian  interpretations  of  points 
of  doctrine.  After  taking  these  steps,  I  made  myself  easy, 
not  doubting  but  M.  de  MontmoUin  would  refuse  to  admit 
me  without  the  prelimhiary  discussion,  whereof  I  would  have 
none,  and  so  the  whole  business  would  be  wound  up  without 
any  fault  of  mine.  I  was  mistaken  :  when  I  least  expected 
any  thing  of  the  kind,  M.  de  Montmollin  came  to  declare  to 
me,  not  only  that  he  would  admit  me  to  the  communion  ou 
my  own  terms,  but  that  he  and  the  elders  would  esteem  them- 
selves highly  honored  in  having  me  as  one  of  their  flock.  I 
never  in  my  whole  life  felt  greater  surprise,  or  received  more 
consolation  from  anything.  To  Uve  ever  isolated  and  alone 
on  the  earth  appeared  to  me  a  melancholy  lot,  especially  in 
adversity.  In  the  midst  of  so  many  proscriptions  and  perse- 
cutions, I  found  a  serene  consolation  in  being  able  to  say  to 
myself,  I  am  at  least  amongst  my  brethren  ;  and  I  went  to 
the  communion  with  heart-felt  emotion,  my  eyes  suffused 
with  tears  of  tenderness,  which  were  perhaps  the  most  pleas- 
ing preparation  to  him  to  whose  table  I  was  drawing  near. 

Some  time  afterwards  his  Lordship  sent  me  a  letter  from 
Madam  de  Boufflers,  transmitted,  at  least  so  I  sm-mise,  through 
d'Alembert,  who  was  acquainted  with  my  Lord  Marshal, 
In  this  letter,  the  first  that  lady  had  written  to  me  since 
my  departure  from  Montmorency,  she  rebuked  me  severely 
for  having  written  to  M.  de  Montmollin,  and  especially  for 
having  partaken  of  the  communion.  I  the  less  understood 
what  she  was  driving  at,  as,  since  my  journey  to  Geneva,  I 
had  constantly  and  openly  declared  myself  a  Protestant, 
and  had  gone  publicly  to  the  Hotel  de  Hollande,  without 
anybody's  thinking  anything  of  it.  It  appeared  to  me  divert- 
ing enough,  that  Madam  de  Boufflers  should  wish  to  direct  my 
conscience  in  matters  of  religion.  However,  as  I  had  no 
doubt  of  the  purity  of  her  intentions,  (though  what  these 
were  I  knew  not)  I  was  not  offended  by  this  singular  sally, 


358  Rousseau's  confessions. 

and  I  answered  her  without  anger,  stating  my  reasons  for 
the  course  I  had  pursued. 

Calumnies  in  print  were,  however,  still  industriously 
circulated,  and  their  benign  authors  reproached  the  differ- 
ent powers  with  treating  me  too  mildly.  There  was  some- 
thing ominous  and  terrific  in  this  universal  and  united  bay- 
ing and  barking,  the  motors  meanwhile  acting  concealedly. 
For  my  part  I  let  them  go  ahead  without  bothering  myself 
about  the  matter.  I  was  told  that  the  Sorbonne  had 
issued  a  censure  ;  but  would  not  believe  it.  What  could 
the  Sorbonne  have  to  do  in  the  matter  ?  Did  they  wish 
assurance  that  I  was  not  a  Catholic  ?  Everybody  already 
knew  I  was  not.  Were  they  desirous  of  proving  I  was  not  a 
good  Calviuist  ?  What  mattered  it  then  ?  It  was  taking 
a  very  singular  care  on  themselves  and  becoming  the  sub- 
stitutes of  our  ministers.  Before  I  saw  this  production,  I 
thought  it  had  been  published  in  the  name  of  the  Sorbonne, 
by  way  of  making  a  fool  of  that  body  ;  I  thought  so  still 
more  when  I  had  read  it.  When  at  length,  however,  there 
was  no  doubting  its  authenticity,  all  I  could  do  was 
charitably  to  believe  that  Sorbonne  would  have  been  better 
located  in  Bedlam. 

(1163.)  There  was  another  publication  that  affected 
me  much  more  deeply,  as  it  came  from  a  man  for  whom  I 
had  always  felt  esteem,  and  whose  constancy  I  admired, 
though  I  pitied  his  blindness.  I  referred  to  the  mandate 
{maiidevmit)  the  Archbishop  of  Paris  issued  against  me. 
I  thought  it  behoved  me  to  reply.  This  I  felt  I  could  do 
without  derogating  from  my  dignity  :  the  case  was  some- 
thing similar  to  that  of  the  King  of  Poland.  I  have  always 
detested  your  brutal,  Voltairisli,  disputes.  I  never  can  com- 
bat Imt  with  dignity,  and  before  I  deign  to  defend  myself, 
I  must  be  certain  that  the  aggressor  will  not  dishonor  my  re- 
tort. I  had  no  doubt  but  this  mandate  was  fabricated  by 
the  Jesuits,  and  although  they  were  at  that  time  in  distress, 
it  betrayed  their  old  maxim  ever  to  crush  the  wretched. 
Accordingly  I  esteemed  myself  at  liberty  to  follow  my  old 
principle  :  to  honor  the  titulnry  autlior,  meanwhile  coming 
down  on  the  work  itself  with  the  thunders  of  Jove  ;  and 
this  I  think  I  did  up  pretty  well. 

I   found    living  at  Motiers    very    agreeable  ;    and,   to 


PERIOD  II.    BOOK  XII.      1163.  359 

determine  me  to  end  my  days  there  nothing  was  wanting 
but  a  cei'taiuty  of  the  means  of  subsistance.  Lining,  though, 
is  rather  dear  thereabouts,  and  all  my  old  projects  had  been 
dissipated  to  the  winds  by  the  breaking  up  of  my  household, 
the  establishment  of  a  new  one,  the  sale  or  squandering  of 
my  furniture,  and  the  expenses  incurred  since  my  departure 
from  Montmorency.  The  little  capital  I  had  left  was 
wearing  fast  down.  Two  or  three  years  would  suffice  to 
consume  the  remainder  without  my  having  any  means  of 
renewing  it,  except  by  again  engaging  in  literary  pursuits 
— a  pernicious  profession  which  I  had  already  aJoandoned. 
Persuaded  that  things  would  shortly  change  touching 
me,  and  that  the  public,  recovered  from  its  frenzy,  would 
make  the  Powers  blush  at  their  conduct,  all  my  endeavors 
were  directed  to  prolonging  my  resources,  until  this  happy 
consummation  should  be  brought  about,  thus  leaving  me  at 
greater  liberty  to  choose  from  amongst  the  roads  opened  to  me 
the  way  that  might  suit  me  best.  To  this  effect,  I  resumed 
my  "  Musical  Dictionary,"  which  ten  years  labor  had  so 
far  advanced  as  to  leave  nothing  wanting  to  it  but  the  last 
corrections.  My  books,  which  I  had  lately  received,  enabled 
me  to  finish  this  work  ;  my  papers,  sent  me  at  the  same 
time,  furnished  me  with  the  means  of  beginning  my 
Memoirs,  to  which  I  was  determined  for  the  future  to  give 
my  whole  attention.  I  began  by  transcribing  the  letters 
into  a  collection,  so  as  to  guide  my  memory  by  a  series  of 
facts  and  dates.  I  had  already  finished  sorting  and  select- 
ing those  I  intended  keeping  for  this  purpose,  and  the  series 
went  through  ten  years  uninterruptedly.  However,  in  pre- 
paring them  for  copying,  I  detected  a  break  that  surprised 
me.  This  was  for  almost  six  months,  from  October  1756,  to 
March  following.  I  distinctly  recollected  having  put  into 
my  selection  a  numlier  of  letters  from  Diderot,  De  Leyre, 
Madam  d'Epiuay,  Madam  de  Chenonceaux,  etc.,  which 
filled  up  the  work  :  these  it  was  that  were  missing.  What 
had  become  of  them  ?  Had  any  persou  touched  my  papers 
during  the  few  months  they  had  remained  in  the  Hotel  de 
Luxembourg  ?  This  was  not  conceivable,  and  I  had  seen 
M.  de  Luxembourg  take  the  key  of  the  chamber  in  which 
I  had  deposited  them  himself.  As  various  letters  from 
different  ladies,  and  all  those  from  Diderot,  were  without 


360  KOUSSEAU'S  CONFESSIONS. 

date,  and  I  had  beea  under  the  necessity  of  dating  them 
from  memory,  and  pretty  much  by  guess,  so  as  to  arrange 
them  in  order,  I  at  first  thought  I  might  have  made  a  mis- 
take in  the  dating,  so  I  again  looked  over  all  of  them  that 
were  dateless  or  which  I  had  dated,  to  see  if  I  could  not 
find  those  that  would  fill  up  the  void.  This  experiment  did 
not  succeed.  I  saw  that  the  void  was  indeed  real;  that  the 
letters  had  indeed  been  carried  off.  By  whom  and  why  ? 
It  passed  my  powers  to  tell.  These  letters,  written  prior  to 
my  famous  quarrels,  and  during  the  time  of  my  first  enthusi- 
asm over  the  Heloise,  could  interest  nobody.  At  the  most, 
they  but  contained  certain  bickerings  of  Diderot's  and  jeerings 
of  De  Leyre's,  together  with  assurances  of  friendship  from 
Madam  de  Chenonceaux,  and  even  Madam  d'Epiuay,  with 
whom  I  was  then  upon  the  best  of  terms.  To  whom  were 
these  letters  of  consequence  ?  To  what  use  were  they  to 
be  put  ?  It  was  not  until  seven  years  afterwards  that  I 
suspected  the  frightful  object  of  the  theft. 

This  deficit  being  no  longer  doubtful,  I  looked  over  my 
rough  di'afts  to  see  whether  or  not  it  was  the  only  one.  I 
found  several,  which,  considering  the  poorness  of  my  memory, 
made  me  suppose  there  might  be  others  in  the  multitude  of 
my  papers.  Those  I  remarked  were  the  rough  draft 
of  the  Morale  Sensitive,  and  the  extract  from  the  Adven- 
tures of  Lord  Edward.  The  last,  I  confess,  made  me  sus- 
pect Madam  de  Luxembourg.  It  was  La  Roche,  her  valet 
de  chambre,  that  had  sent  me  the  papers,  and  I  could  think 
of  nobody  in  the  world  but  hor  that  cared  anything  about 
this  fragment;  but  what  did  the  other  concern  her  any  more 
than  the  rest  of  the  letters  missing — documents  of  which  it 
was  impossible,  even  with  evil  intentions,  to  make  any  use 
that  could  harm  me,  unless  they  were  falsified  ?  As  for  the 
Marshal,  with  whose  real  friendship  for  me  and  invariable 
integrity,  1  was  perfectly  acquainted,  I  never  could  suspect 
him  for  a  moment.  I  cannot  even  fasten  the  suspicion  on 
the  Marchioness.  The  most  reasonable  supposition,  after 
long  tormenting  my  mind  in  endeavoring  to  discover  the 
autlior  of  the  theft,  was  to  impute  it  to  d'Alenibert,  who  hav- 
ing picked  up  an  acquaintance  witli  Madam  de  Luxembourg, 
might  have  found  means  to  rummage  through  these  papers, 
and  carry  off  such  manuscripts  and  letters  as  he  might  have 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  xu.      1163.  361 

thought  proper,  either  for  the  purpose  of  endeavoring  to 
get  me  into  a  scrape,  or  to  appropriate  those  he  sliould 
find  useful  to  his  own  private  purposes.  I  imagined 
that,  deceived  by  the  title  of  Sensational  Morality,  he  might 
have  supposed  it  to  be  the  plan  of  a  regular  treatise 
on  materialism  ;  and  if  it  had,  imagine  what  a  use  he  might 
have  made  of  it  1  Certain  that  he  would  soon  be  undeceiv- 
ed by  reading  the  sketch,  and  having  made  up  my  mind  to 
leave  literature  for  ever,  I  bothered  myself  very  little 
about  these  larcenies,  which  were  not  the  first  by  the  same 
hand*  that  I  had  suffered  without  complaining.  Before 
long,  I  thought  no  more  of  this  piece  of  infidelity  than  if 
nothing  had  happened,  and  began  to  collect  the  materials  I 
had  left  for  the  purpose  of  working  at  my  projected 
Confessions. 

I  had  long  thought  the  company  of  ministers,  or  at  least 
the  citizens  and  burgesses  of  Geneva,  would  remonstrate 
against  the  infraction  of  the  edict  in  the  decree  made  against 
me.  Every  thing  remained  quiet,  at  least  to  all  outward 
appearance  ;  for  a  general  discontent  prevailed  which  but 
awaited  an  opportunity  openly  to  manifest  itself.  My 
friends,  or  persons  calling  themselves  such,  wrote  me  letter 
after  letter,  exhorting  me  to  come  and  put  myself  at  their 
head,  assuring  me  of  public  reparation  from  the  Council. 
The  fear  of  the  disturbance  and  troubles  my  presence  might 
cause  prevented  me  from  acquiescing  in  their  desires  ;  and, 
faithful  to  the  oath  I  had  formerly  made,  never  to  take  the 
least  part  in  any  civil  dissension  in  my  country,  I  chose  ra- 
ther to  let  the  offence  remain,  and  banish  myself  for  ever 
from  the  country  than  to  return  to  it  by  means  violent  and 
dangerous.  True,  I  expected  the  burgesses  would  make 
legal  and  peaceful  remonstrances  against  an  infraction  that 
concerned  them  deeply.  But,  no.  They  who  had  them  un- 
der their  sway  sought  less  the  real  redress  of  grievances, 
than  an  opportunity  to  render  themselves  necessary.     They 

*  I  had  found,  in  his  Elements  of  Music,  taken  from  what  I  had 
written  on  the  subject  \Qthe.  Encyclop(edia,  and  which  got  into  his  hands 
several  years  before  the  publication  of  his  Elements.  I  icnow  not  what 
part  he  may  have  had  in  a  book  entitled  a  Dict'wnartj  of  t/te  Fine  Arts; 
but  I  found  whole  articles  stolen  verbatim  from  my  works,  and  that  long 
before  the  very  things  themselves  were  published  by  me  in  the  Encyclo- 
p«dia. 

II.  16 


362  Rousseau's  confessions. 

caballed  but  were  silent,  and  let  the  crew  of  gossips  and 
hypocrites,  or  so-called  such,  howl  away,  the  Council  mean- 
while edging  them  on  to  render  me  more  odious  in  the  eyes  of 
the  populace,  and  palm  off  their  set-to  for  zeal  iu  the  cause 
of  religion. 

After  having  during  a  whole  year  vainly  expected  that 
some  one  would  remonstrate  against  so  illegal  a  proceeding, 
I  made  up  my  mind  ;  and,  seeing  myself  abandoned  by  ray 
fellow-citizens,  I  determiued  to  renounce  my  ungrateful 
country,  in  which  I  never  had  lived,  from  which  I  had  nei- 
ther received  inheritance  nor  services,  and  by  which,  iu  re- 
turn for  the  honor  I  had  endeavored  to  do  it,  I  saw  myself 
so  unworthily  treated  by  unanimous  consent;  since  they, 
who  should  have  spoken,  had  remained  silent.  According- 
ly I  wrote  the  First  Syndic  for  that  year — M.  Favre,  if  I 
remember  right — a  letter,  wherein  I  solemnly  abdicated  my 
right  of  citizenship,  carefully  observing  iu  it,  however,  that 
decency  and  moderation,  from  which  I  have  never  departed 
in  the  acts  of  haughtiness  which  the  cruelty  of  my  enemies 
have  frequently  forced  from  me  amid  my  misfortunes. 

This  step  opened  the  eyes  of  the  citizens  :  feeling 
they  had  neglected  their  own  interests  in  abandoning  my 
defence,  they  took  my  part  when  it  was  too  late.  They  had 
grievances  of  their  own  which  they  joined  to  mine,  and  made 
these  the  subject  of  several  well-reasoned  representations, 
which  they  strengthened  and  extended  in  proportion  as  the 
hard  and  discouraging  refusals  of  the  Council,  which  felt 
itself  supported  by  the  French  ministry,  made  them  more 
clearly  perceive  the  project  formed  to  impose  on  them  a 
yoke.  These  altercations  produced  several  pamphlets,  vrhich 
did  not  amount  to  anything,  until  suddenly  appeared  the 
Lettres  ecrites  de  la  Campagne,  a  work  written  in  favor  of 
the  Council,  with  infinite  art,  and  by  which  the  remonstrating 
party,  reduced  to  silence,  was  crushed  for  the  time  being. 
This  production,  a  lasting  monument  of  the  rare  talents  of  its 
author,  came  from  Attorney  General  Tronchin,  a  man  of  mind 
and  culture,  well-versed  in  the  laws  and  government  of  the 
Republic.      SUuii  terra. 

(nG4)  The  remonstrators,  recovered  from  their  first 
overthrow,  undertook  a  reply,  and  in  time  got  off  tolerably 
well.     But  they  all  looked  to  me  as  the  only  person  capa- 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  XII.      1*164.  363 

ble  of  entering  the  lists  with  a  like  adversary  with  the  hope 
of  success.  I  confess  I  was  of  their  opinion  ;  and,  excited 
by  former  fellow-citizeus,  who  put  it  to  me  as  my  duty  to 
aid  them  with  my  pen,  as  I  had  been  the  cause  of  their  em- 
barrassment, I  under  tools  to  refute  the  Lettres  ecrites  de  la 
Cajnpagne,  and  parodied  the  title  of  them  iu  that  of  Lett  res 
ecrites  de  la  Montagne,  which  I  gave  to  mine.  I  wrote  this 
answer  so  secretly,  that,  at  a  meeting  I  had  at  Thonon  with 
the  chiefs  of  the  malcontents,  to  talk  of  their  affairs,  on 
their  showing  me  a  sketch  of  their  answer,  I  said  not  a  word 
of  mine,  which  was  even  then  quite  ready,  fearing  obstacles 
might  arise  relative  to  the  pubUcation  of  it,  should  the  ma- 
gistrate or  my  enemies  hear  of  what  I  had  done.  Spite  ot 
all  I  could  do,  though,  the  work  was  known  in  France  be- 
fore the  publication  ;  but  government  chose  rather  to  let  it 
appear,  than  to  suffer  me  to  guess  at  the  means  by  which 
my  secret  had  been  discovered.  Concerning  this,  I  will 
state  what  I  know,  which  does  not  amount  to  much  :  what 
I  have  conjectured  shall  remain  with  myself. 

I  received  at  Motiers  almost  as  many  visits  as  at  the 
Hermitage  or  at  Montmorency  ;  but  these,  for  the  most 
part,  were  of  a  very  different  kind.  They  wlio  had  former- 
ly come  to  see  me  were  people,  who,  having  affinities  of  taste, 
talents,  and  principles  with  me,  alleged  them  as  the  causes 
of  their  visits,  and  introduced  subjects  on  which  I  could 
converse.  At  Motiers,  the  case  was  different,  especially 
with  the  visitors  who  came  from  France.  These  for  the  main 
consisted  of  officers  or  other  persons  who  had  no  taste  for 
literature,  most  of  whom  had  not  even  read  my  works,  al- 
though, according  to  their  own  accounts,  they  had  traveled 
thirty,  forty,  sixty,  or  a  hundred  leagues  to  see  me,  and  ad- 
mire the  '  illustrious  man,'  the  '  celebrated,'  the  '  very  cele- 
brated,' the  '  great  man,'  etc.  For,  from  the  time  of  my 
settling  at  Motiers,  I  received  the  most  impudent  flattery 
— an  article  from  which  the  esteem  of  those  with  whom  I 
associated,  had  formerly  sheltered  me.  As  but  few  of  my 
new  visitors  deigned  to  tell  me  who  or  what  they  were,  and 
as  they  had  neither  read  nor  seen  my  works,  nor  had  their 
researches  and  mine  been  directed  to  the  same  olrjects,  I 
knew  not  what  to  speak  to  them  upon  :  I  waited  for  what 
they  had  to  say,  seeing  it  was  for  them  to  know  and  tell  me 


864  Rousseau's  confessions. 

the  purpose  of  their  visit.  As  you  may  readily  imagine, 
this  did  uot  render  our  conversation  very  interesting  to  me, 
whatever  it  might  have  been  to  them,  according  to  the  in- 
formation they  might  wish  to  acquire  ;  for  as  I  was  with- 
out suspicion,  I  unreservedly  answered  every  question  they 
thought  proper  to  asli  me,  and  they  commonly  left  as  well 
informed  as  myself  of  all  the  particulars  of  my  situation. 

I  was,  for  example,  visited  in  this  manner  by  M.  de  Feins, 
Equerry  to  the  Queen,  and  captain  of  cavalry  in  the  Queen's 
regiment,  who  had  the  patience  to  pass  several  days  at  Mo- 
tiers,  and  even  follow  me  on  foot  to  La  Ferriere,  leading  his 
horse  by  the  bridle,  without  having  with  me  any  common 
ground,  except  that  we  both  knew  Mile.  Fel,  and  that  we 
both  played  at  cup-and-ball.  Previous  to  this,  I  had  I'eceived 
another  visit  of  a  much  more  extraordinary  kind.  Two  men 
arrive  on  foot,  each  leading  a  mule  loaded  with  his  little 
baggage,  put  up  at  the  inn,  taking  care  of  their  mules 
themselves  and  ask  where  I  lived.  By  the  trim  of  these 
muleteers  the  folks  took  them  for  smugglers,  and  the  news 
that  smugglers  had  come  to  see  me  instantly  spread  like 
wild-fire.  Their  simple  manner  of  addressing  me  soon 
showed  me  they  were  persons  of  quite  another  description  ; 
still,  though  not  smugglers,  they  might  be  adventurers,  and 
this  doubt  kept  me  for  some  time  on  my  guard.  They  soon 
removed  my  apprehensions.  One  was  M.  de  Montauban, 
who  had  the  title  of  Count  de  La  Tourdu-Pin,  a  gentleman 
from  Dauphine  ;  the  other  M.  Dastier,  from  Carpentras, 
an  old  officer,  who  had  put  his  cross  of  St.  Louis  in  his 
pocket,  as  he  could  not  display  it.  These  gentlemen,  both 
of  them  very  amiable,  were  men  of  sense  ;  their  conversa- 
tion was  agreeable  and  interesting,  and  their  manner  of 
traveling,  so  much  to  my  own  taste,  and  so  little  to  the 
liking  of  French  gentlemen,  in  some  measure  gained  them 
my  attachment,  which  intercourse  with  them  served  to  im- 
prove. Our  acquaintance  did  not  end  with  the  visit  ;  it  is 
still  kept  up,  and  they  have  since  been  several  times  to  see 
me  ;  not  on  foot — that  was  very  well  for  the  first  time  ;  but 
the  more  I  have  seen  of  these  gentlemen,  the  less  affinity 
have  I  found  between  their  taste  and  mine,  the  less  have  I 
found  our  principles  agreeing,  that  my  writings  were  famil- 
iar to  them,  or  that  there  was  any  real  sympathy  between 


PERIOD  n.     BOOK  XII.     1164.  365 

them  and  myself.  What,  then,  did  they  want  with  me  ? 
Why  came  they  to  see  me  in  such  a  trim  ?  Why  remain  several 
days  ?  Why  repeat  their  visit  ?  Why  were  they  so  desirous  of 
having  me  for  tiieir  host?  I  did  not  at  the  time  propose  to  my- 
self these  questions.    I  have  sometimes  thought  of  them  since. 

Won  by  their  advances,  my  heart  abandoned  itself  with- 
out any  further  reasoning,  especially  to  M.  Dastier,  with 
whose  open  countenance  I  was  more  particularly  pleased. 
I  even  corresponded  with  him,  and  when  I  determined  to 
print  the  Letters  from  the  Mountain,  I  thought  of  address- 
ing myself  to  him,  to  deceive  those  who  were  lying  in  wait 
for  my  packet  on  its  way  to  Holland.  He  had  spoken  to 
me  a  good  deal,  and  perhaps  purposely,  about  the  liberty 
of  the  press  at  Avignon  ;  he  offered  me  his  services,  should 
I  have  any  thing  to  print  there  :  I  took  advantage  of  the 
offer,  and  sent  him  successively  by  the  post  my  first  sheets. 
After  having  kept  these  for  some  time,  he  sent  them  back 
to  me,  writing  me  that  no  bookseller  dared  undertake 
them  ;  and  I  was  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  Rey,  taking 
care  to  send  my  cahicrs  one  after  the  other,  and  not  to  part 
with  the  others  until  I  had  advice  of  the  reception  of  tiie 
first.  Before  the  work  was  published,  I  found  it  had  been 
seen  in  the  bureaux  of  the  ministers,  and  D'Escherny  of 
Neufchatel,  spoke  to  me  of  a  book  by  the  '  Man  of  the  Moun- 
tain' (I'Homme  de  la  Montagne),  which  Holbach  had 
told  him  was  by  me.  I  assured  him,  as  was  but  true,  that 
I  never  had  written  any  such  book.  When  the  letters  ap- 
peared he  became  furious,  and  accused  me  of  falsehood,  al- 
though I  had  told  him  nothing  but  the  truth.  Thus  it  was 
I  got  at  it  that  my  manuscript  had  been  read.  As  I  could 
not  doubt  of  the  fidelity  of  Rey,  I  was  forced  to  conjecture 
in  another  direction,  and  the  supposition  I  was  most  fain 
to  rest  with  was  that  my  packets  had  been  opened  at  the 
post-office. 

Another  acquaintance  I  made  much  about  the  same 
time,  but  which  was  begun  by  letter,  was  that  with  M. 
Laliaud  of  Nimes,  who  wrote  to  me  from  Paris,  begging  I 
would  send  him  my  portrait  in  profile  which,  as  he  said,  he 
wanted  for  my  bust  in  marble,  which  Le  Moine  was  making 
for  him,  to  be  placed  in  his  library.  If  this  was  a  hoax, 
got  up  to  bamboozle  me,  it  succeeded  most  fully.     I  imagin. 


366  Rousseau's  confessions. 

ed  that  a  man  who  wished  to  have  a  marble  bust  of  me  in  his 
library,  bad  his  head  full  of  my  works,  consequently  of  my 
principles,  and  that  he  loved  me  because  he  felt  a  soul- 
sympathy  with  me.  It  was  extremely  natural  this  idea 
should  seduce  me.  I  subsequently  saw  M.  Laliaud.  I 
found  him  very  ready  to  render  me  all  sorts  of  trifling 
services,  and  concern  himself  in  my  little  affairs.  But,  I 
have  my  doubts  if  any  of  my  books  was  within  the  very 
limited  ranj^e  of  literature  whereto  he  had  confined  himself. 
I  do  not  know  that  he  has  a  library,  or  that  such  a  thing 
would  be  of  any  use  to  him  ;  and  as  for  the  bust,  it  simply 
amounted  to  a  wretched  plaster-cast,  by  Le  Moine,  from 
which  he  had  a  hideous  portrait  engraved  that  bears  my 
name,  and  circulates  around,  just  as  though  it  was  the 
least  like  me  ! 

The  only  Frenchman  who  seemed  to  come  to  see  me 
through  love  of  my  sentiments  and  my  works,  was  a  young 
officer  of  the  regiment  of  Limousin,  named  Sequier  de  St. 
Brisson,  who  made  a  figure  and  perhaps  still  does  in  Paris, 
and  in  society  by  his  pleasing  talents  and  his  pretensions  to 
wit.  He  had  come  once  to  Montmorency,  the  winter  which 
preceeded  my  catastrophe.  I  was  pleased  with  his  depth 
of  feeling.  He  afterwards  wrote  to  me  at  Motiers  ;  and 
whether  he  wanted  to  play  off  his  pranks  on  me,  or  that 
his  head  was  really  turned  with  the  EviiU,  he  informed  me 
he  was  about  to  quit  the  service  to  live  independently,  and 
had  begun  to  learn  the  trade  of  a  carpenter.  He  had  an 
elder  brother,  a  captain  in  the  same  regiment,  who  was  the 
pet  of  the  mother.  The  mother,  who  was  an  outrageous 
devotee,  under  the  sway  of  I  know  not  what  '  Abbe  Tar- 
tuffe,'  did  not  treat  the  youngest  son  over  well,  accusing 
him  of  irreligion,  and  what  was  still  worse,  of  the  un- 
pardonable crime  of  being  connected  with  me.  These 
were  the  grievances  on  account  of  which  he  was  determined 
to  break  with  liis  mother,  and  adopt  the  manner  of  life  of 
which  I  have  just  spoken  ;  all  to  play  the  '  petit  Emile.' 

Alarmed  at  this  upshot,  I  immediately  wrote  to  him, 
endeavoring  to  make  him  change  his  resolution,  and  my 
exhortations  were  as  strong  as  I  could  make  them.  Tiiey 
had  their  efl'ect.  Ho  returned  to  his  duty  to  his  mother, 
and  took  back  the  resignation  he  had  given  the  Colonel, 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  XII.      1164.  361 

who  bad  been  prudent  enough  to  make  no  use  of  it,  so  that 
the  young  man  might  have  time  to  reflect  upon  what  he 
had  done.  St.  Brisson,  cured  of  these  follies,  was  guilty  of 
another  less  alarming,  but,  to  me,  not  less  disagreeable- : 
he  turned  author.  He  published  two  or  three  pamphlets 
in  succession,  which  announced  a  man  not  devoid  of  talents, 
but  touching  which  I  have  not  to  reproach  myself  with 
having  encouraged  him  by  my  praises  to  pursue  this 
career. 

Some  time  afterwards  he  came  to  see  me,  and  we  made 
together  a  pilgrimage  to  the  ile  de  St.  Pierre.  During 
this  journey  1  found  him  different  from  what  I  had  seen 
him  at  Montmorency.  There  was  a  certain  affectation  in 
his  manner,  that  did  not  at  first  much  disgust  me,  but 
which  has  come  to  my  mind  a  good  many  times  since. 
He  came  to  see  me  once  more  at  the  Hotel  de  St.  Simon, 
as  I  was  passing  through  Paris  on  my  way  to  England.  I 
learned  what  he  had  not  told  me,  that  he  moved  in 
high  society,  and  often  visited  Madam  de  Luxembourg. 
Whilst  at  Trie,  I  never  heard  from  him,  nor  did  he  so  much 
as  send  me  a  message  through  his  relative.  Mile.  Seguier,  a 
neighbor  of  mine,  and  who  never  seemed  very  favorably 
disposed  towards  me.  In  a  word,  the  infatuation  of  M.  de 
Brisson  ended  all  of  a  sudden,  like  the  connection  of  M.  de 
Feins  :  but  the  latter  owed  me  nothing,  whereas  the  former 
did  ;  unless  it  was  that  the  follies  I  prevented  him  from 
committing  were  a  mere  piece  of  foolery,  which  might  very 
possibly  have  been  the  case. 

I  had  also  visits,  more  or  less,  from  Geneva.  The 
Dekics,  father  and  son,  successively  chose  me  for  their 
attendant  in  sickness.  The  father  was  taken  ill  on  the 
road,  the  son  was  already  sick  when  he  left  Geneva  ;  they 
both  came  to  my  house  to  recruit.  Ministers,  relations, 
hypocrites,  and  persons  of  every  description  came  from 
Geneva  and  Switzerland,  not  like  those  from  France,  to 
fool  and  admire  me,  but  to  rebuke  and  catechise  me.  The 
only  person  amongst  them  that  gave  me  pleasure  was 
Mo'ultou,  who  came  and  passed  three  or  four  days  with  me, 
and  whom  I  would  fain  have  retained  much  longer.  The 
most  persevering  of  all,  the  most  obstinate,  and  who  con- 
quered me  by  sheer  importunity,  was  a  M.  d'lvernois,  a  mer- 


368  KOUSSEAU'S  CONFESSIONS. 

chant  of  Geneva,  a  French  refugee,  and  a  relation  of  the 
Attorney-General  of  Keufchatel.  This  M.  d'lvernoiscame 
from  Geneva  to  Motiers  twice  a  year  on  purpose  to  see  me, 
remained  with  me  several  days  together  from  morning  to 
night,  accompanied  me  in  my  walks,  brought  me  a  thousand 
little  presents,  insinuated  himself  in  spite  of  me  into  my 
confidence  and  intermeddled  in  all  my  affairs,  without  there 
being  between  him  and  myself  the  least  similarity  of  ideas, 
inclination,  sentiment,  or  knowledge.  I  doubt  if  he  ever 
in  his  life  read  a  book  of  any  kind  through,  or  that  he  even 
knows  what  mine  treat  of.  When  I  began  to  herborise, 
he  followed  me  in  my  botanical  rambles,  without  taste  for 
that  amusement,  or  having  anything  to  say  to  me,  or  I  to 
hira.  He  had  the  patience  to  pass  three  days  along  with 
me  in  a  public  house  at  Goumoins,  whence,  by  dint  of 
wearying  him,  and  making  him  feel  how  much  he  bored 
me,  I  was  in  hopes  of  driving  him  off.  I  could  not,  how- 
ever, shake  his  incredible  perseverance,  nor  by  any  means 
discover  the  motive  of  it. 

Amongst  these  connections,  made  and  continued  by  force, 
I  must  not  omit  the  only  acquaintance  that  was  agreeable 
to  me,  and  in  whom  my  heart  was  really  interested  :  this 
was  a  young  Hungarian,  who  came  to  live  at  Neufchatel, 
and  thence  to  Motiers,  a  few  months  after  I  had  taken  up 
my  residence  there.  The  people  of  the  country  called  him 
Baron  de  Sauttern,  by  which  name  he  had  been  recommended 
from  Zurich.  He  was  tall  and  well  made,  had  an  agreeable 
countenance,  and  mild  and  social  qualities.  He  told  every- 
body, and  gave  me  also  to  understand,  that  he  came  to 
Keufchalel  for  no  other  purpose  than  that  of  forming  his 
youth  to  virtue,  through  intercourse  with  me.  His  phy- 
siognomy, manner,  and  behavior,  seemed  to  bear  out  what 
he  said  ;  and  I  should  have  thought  I  failed  in  one  of  the 
greatest  of  duties,  had  I  turned  my  back  upon  a  young  man 
in  whom  I  perceived  nothing  but  what  was  amiable,  and 
who  sought  my  ac(juaintaiice  from  so  worthy  a  motive.  My 
heart  knows  not  how  to  bestow  itself  by  halves.  He  suon 
acquired  all  my  friendship  and  all  my  confidence,  and  we 
w'ere  presently  inseparable.  He  accompanied  me  in  all  my 
walks,  and  became  fond  of  them.  I  took  him  to  my  Lord 
Marshal,  who  received  him  with  the  utmost  kindness.     As 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  XII.      1764.  369 

he  was  yet  unable  to  express  himself  in  French,  he  spoke 
and  wrote  to  me  in  Latin,  I  answered  in  French,  and  this 
miuglintj  of  the  two  languages  did  not  make  our  couversa- 
tions  either  less  flowing  or  less  lively  in  all  respects.  Ho 
spoke  of  his  family,  his  afi'airs,  liis  adventures,  and  of  the 
court  of  Vienna,  with  tlie  domestic  details  of  which  he 
seemed  well  acquainted.  In  fine,  during  two  years  which 
we  passed  in  the  greatest  intimacy,  I  found  in  him  a  mild- 
ness of  character  proof  against  every  thing,  manners  not 
only  polite  but  elegant,  great  neatness  of  person,  an  ex- 
treme decency  in  his  conversation,  in  a  word,  all  the  marks 
of  a  man  born  and  educated  a  gentleman,  and  which  ren- 
dered him,  in  my  eyes,  too  estimable  not  to  make  him  dear 
to  me. 

At  the  height  of  my  intimacy  with  him,  d'lvernois  wrote 
me  from  Geneva,  puttmg  me  upon  my  guard  agamst  the 
young  Hungarian  who  had  taken  up  his  residence  in  my 
neighborhood  ;  telling  me  he  had  been  assm-ed  he  was  a  spy, 
whom  the  French  ministry  had  appointed  to  watch  my  pro- 
ceedings. This  information  was  of  a  nature  to  alarm  me  the 
more,  as  every  body  advised  me  to  be  on  my  guard,  that  I 
was  watched,  and  that  the  object  was  to  entice  me  into  French 
territory  for  the  purpose  of  betraying  me. 

To  shut  up  these  foolish  advisers  once  for  all,  I  proposed 
a  trip  to  Pontarher  to  Sauttern,  without  giving  him  the 
least  intimation  of  the  information  I  had  received.  To  this 
he  consented.  On  our  reaching  Pontarlier,  I  put  the  letter 
from  d'lvernois  into  his  hands,  and  after  giving  him  an  ardent 
embrace,  I  said :  "  Sauttern  has  no  need  of  a  proof  of  my 
confidence  in  him,  but  it  is  necessary  I  should  prove  to  the 
pubhc  that  I  know  in  whom  to  place  it."  This  embrace  was 
very  delicious  ;  it  was  one  of  those  pleasures  my  pesecutors 
can  neither  feel  themselves,  nor  take  away  from  the  op- 
pressed. 

I  will  never  believe  Sauttern  was  a  spy,  nor  that  he  be- 
trayed me  ;  but  I  was  deceived  in  him.  When  I  opened  to 
him  my  heart  without  reserve,  he  constantly  kept  his  own 
shut  and  abused  me  by  hes.  He  invented  I  know  not  what 
kind  of  story,  to  prove  to  me  that  his  presence  was  necessary 
in  his  own  country.  I  exhorted  him  to  return  to  it  as  soon 
as  possible.  He  set  off,  and  when  I  thought  he  was  hx 
II.  16* 


370  ROUSSEAU'S  CONFESSIONS. 

Hungary,  I  learned  he  was  at  Strasbourg.  This  was  not 
the  first  time  he  had  been  there.  He  had  caused  some  dis- 
order in  a  family  hx  that  city  ;  and  the  husband  knowng  I 
received  him  in  my  house,  wi'Ote  to  me.  I  used  every  effort 
to  bring  the  young  woman  back  to  the  paths  of  virtue,  and 
Sauttern  to  his  duty.  When  I  thought  they  were  perfectly 
detached  from  each  "other,  they  renewed  their  acquaintance, 
and  the  husband  had  the  complaisance  to  receive  the  young 
man  at  his  house  ;  from  that  moment  I  had  nothing  more  to 
say.  I  found  the  pretended  Baron  had  imposed  upon  me 
by  piles  of  hes.  His  name  was  not  Sauttern,  but  Sauttersheim. 
With  respect  to  the  title  of  Baron,  given  him  inSwitzerland,  I 
could  not  reproach  him  with  this,  as  he  had  never  taken  it ; 
but  I  have  not  a  doubt  of  his  being  a  gentleman  ;  and  my 
Lord  Marshal,  who  was  a  keen  judge  of  men,  and  had  been 
in  Hungary,  always  considered  and  treated  him  as  such. 

No  sooner  had  he  left,  than  the  servant  lass  at  the 
tavern  where  he  stayed  at  Motiers  declared  herself  with 
child  by  him.  She  was  so  ugly  a  slut,  and  Sauttern, 
who  was  held  in  high  esteem  and  consideration  throughout 
the  country  from  his  purity  of  manners  and  winning  ways, 
piqued  himself  so  much  on  cleanliness,  that  every  one  was 
shocked  at  this  piece  of  shameful  impudence.  The  most 
amiable  women  of  the  country,  who  lavished  all  their  witch- 
ery on  him  in  vain,  were  furious  ;  while  I  too  was  beside 
myself  with  indignation.  I  used  every  effort  to  get  the  ton- 
gue of  this  impudent  woman  stopped,  offering  to  pay  all  ex- 
penses and  become  security  for  Sauttersheim,  I  wrote  him, 
in  the  fullest  persuasion  not  only  that  he  had  had  nothing  to 
do  with  this  grossesse,  but  that  it  was  feigned,  and  the  whole 
thing  but  a  game  our  enemies  were  trying  to  come  over  him. 
I  desired  him  to  return,  and  confound  the  strumpet  and  those 
who  had  instigated  her.  The  pusillanimity  of  his  answer 
surprised  me.  He  wrote  to  the  minister  of  the  parish  to 
which  the  slut  belonged,  and  tried  to  hush  up  the  matter. 
Seeing  this,  I  concerned  myself  no  more  about  it  ;  but  I  was 
hugely  surprised  that  a  man  that  could  stoop  so  low  should 
have  been  master  enough  of  himself  to  hide  from  me  his  true 
character  even  in  the  closest  intimacy. 

From  Strasbourg,  Sauttersheim  went  to  Paris  to  seek 
his  fortune — a  search  in  which  he  was  anything  but  success- 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  XII.       lIG-l.  3tl 

fal :  he  sank  into  the  depths  of  poverty.  He  wrote  to  me 
confessmg  his  peccavi.  The  recollection  of  our  old  friendship 
awoke  my  sympathy,  so  I  sent  him  some  money.  The  year 
following,  while  on  my  way  through  Paris,  I  saw  him  in  much 
the  same  situation,  only  he  had  got  to  be  a  great  friend  of 
M.  de  Laliaud  :  how  he  came  to  form  his  acquaintance,  and 
whether  it  was  recent  or  of  long  standing,  I  could  never  as- 
certain. Two  years  afterwards,  Sauttersheim  returned  to 
Strasbourg,  whence  he  wrote  me,  and  where  he  died.  Such 
is  the  story  in  brief  of  our  connections,  and  what  I  know  of 
his  adventures.  While  deploring  the  fate  of  the  unhappy 
young  man,  I  shall  always  beheve  he  was  of  good  bu-th,  and 
that  all  his  sins  were  shuply  the  effect  of  the  circumstances 
amid  which  he  was  cast. 

Such  were  the  acquisitions  I  made  at  Motiers  in  the  way 
of  connections  and  acquaintances.  And  what  troops  of  them 
would  I  have  had  to  have  made  to  compensate  for  the  terri- 
ble losses  I  was,  at  this  same  period,  to  undergo  I 

My  first  bereavement  was  in  the  death  of  M.  de  Luxem- 
bourg, who,  after  having  for  a  long  while  been  tormented  by 
the  doctors,  fell  at  length  then-  victim.  They  would  not 
acknowledge  he  had  the  gout,  but  persisted  in  treating  hun 
for  this,  his  real  disease,  as  for  a  disorder  they  could  cure. 

If  what  La  Roche,  Madam  la  Marechale's  confidential 
man,  wrote  me  on  the  subject  may  be  relied  upon,  his  fate 
furnishes  a  most  bitter  and  memorable  example  of  how  piti- 
able are  the  miseries  of  state,  and  all  the  vam  pomp  and 
glory  of  the  world. 

The  loss  of  this  most  excellent  nobleman  afflicted  me  all  the 
more  keenly,  as  he  was  the  only  real  friend  I  had  in  France; 
and  such  was  the  mildness  of  his  disposition  as  to  make  me 
quite  forget  his  rank,  and  I  felt  drawn  to  him  as  though  he 
had  been  jxn  equal.  Our  intercourse  was  not  broken  off  by 
my  departure,  for  he  continued  to  write  me  as  usual.  I 
thought  I  perceived,  though ,  that  my  absence  or  misfortune 
had  a  little  cooled  his  affection  for  me.  It  is  very  hard  for 
a  courtier  to  preserve  the  same  attachment  for  a  person 
whom  he  knows  to  be  in  disgrace  with  the  Powers.  I  sus- 
pected, too,  that  the  great  asceudency  Madam  de  Luxem- 
bourg had  over  his  mind  had  been  unfavorable  to  me,  and 
that  she  had  taken  advantage  of  our  separation  to  injure 


372  Rousseau's  confessions. 

me  in  his  esteem.  For  her  own  part,  spite  of  certain  af- 
fected demonstrations — becoming  ever  fewer  and  farther 
between — she  took  daily  less  care  to  conceal  her  change  of 
friendship.  She  wrote  to  me  to  Switzerland  four  or  five 
times,  and  then  broke  off  altogether  ;  and  it  certainly  must 
have  required  all  my  prediliction  and  blind  confidence  to  pre- 
vent me  from  perceiving  that  she  felt  more  than  a  '  coolness' 
towards  me. 

Guy,  Duchesne's  partner  in  the  publishing  business,  who 
had  been  quite  a  frequenter  of  the  Hotel  de  Luxembourg 
since  my  departure,  wrote  me  that  I  was  in  the  Marshal's 
will.  This  was  perfectly  natural  and  believable,  so  I  had 
no  doubt  but  it  was  so.  This  led  me  to  deliberate  how  I 
should  act  with  reference  to  the  legacy.  All  things  consi- 
dered, I  resolved  to  accept  it,  whatever  it  might  be,  and  do 
honor  to  the  memory  of  a  most  honest  man,  who  had  felt  a 
true  friendship  for  me,  in  a  rank  that  feeling  very  seldom 
penetrates.  This,  however,  was  not  required  of  me.  I 
heard  no  more  of  the  legacy,  true  or  false  ;  and  in  truth  I 
should  have  felt  loath  to  violate  one  of  my  fundamental 
rules  of  conduct  by  profiting  iu  any  way  by  the  death  of  any 
one  that  was  dear  to  me.  During  the  last  illness  of  our 
friend  Mussard,  Lenieps  proposed  to  me  to  take  advantage 
of  the  grateful  sense  he  expressed  of  our  cares,  to  hint  at 
his  remembering  us  in  his  will.  '  Ah  !  my  dear  Lenieps,' 
said  I,  '  let  us  not  pollute  by  ideas  of  self-interest  the  sad 
but  sacred  duties  we  are  discharging  towards  our  dying 
friend.  I  hope  my  name  will  never  be  in  anybody's  will,  and 
at  least  that  it  never  will  be  in  my  friends.'  It  was  about 
this  same  time  that  my  Lord  Marshal  spoke  to  me  of  his, 
and  what  he  intended  to  do  in  it  for  me,  as  also  when  I 
made  him  the  reply  I  have  spoken  of  in  Part  First. 

My  second  loss,  still  more  affecting  and  far  more  irrepa- 
rable, was  that  of  the  best  of  women  and  mothers,  who 
already  weighed  down  with  years  and  o'erburdcned  with 
infirmities  and  misery,  quitted  this  vale  of  tears  and  passed 
to  the  abode  of  the  blessed,  where  we  enjoy  the  eternal  re- 
ward of  the  delightful  remembrance  of  the  good  we  have 
done  here  below.  '  Go,  kind,  gentle  soul,  go  and  dwell  for 
ever  amid  the  Feuelons,  the  Bernex,  the  Catinats,  and  those 
who,  in  humbler  stations,  have,  like  them,  opened  their 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  XII.      1764.  313 

hearts  to  true  charity  ;  go  and  enjoy  the  fruit  of  your  good 
deeds,  and  prepare  for  your  son  the  place  he  hopes  one  day 
to  occupy  by  your  side  !  Happy  amid  your  misfortunes 
that  heaven,  in  putting  an  end  thereto,  has  spared  you  the 
heart-rending  spectacle  of  his  woes  !'  Fearful  of  saddening 
her  heart  by  the  story  of  my  disasters,  I  had  not  written  to 
her  since  my  arrival  in  Switzerland.  I  wrote,  however,  to  M. 
de  Conzie,  inquiring  after  her,  and  it  was  from  him  I  learned 
that  she  had  ceased  solacing  the  suffering,  and  ceased  to 
suffer  herself.  Soon  shall  I,  too,  be  at  rest;  but  did  I  think 
I  should  not  meet  her  in  the  next  world,  my  weak  imagina- 
tion would  conceive  somewhat  had  been  taken  from  the  per- 
fect happiness  I  promise  myself  there.         ]  f    '^i  i>!  I 

My  third  loss — and  it  was  my  last,  as  after  lliat;  I  had 
no  friends  left  to  lose — was  in  the  departure  of  my  Lord 
Marshal.  He  did  not  die,  but,  weary  of  serving  a  set  of 
ungrateful  wretches,  he  left  Neufchatel,  and  I  have  never 
seen  him  since.  He  is  still  alive,  and  will,  I  hope,  survive 
me  ;  he  lives,  and  thanks  to  him,  all  my  attachments  on 
earth  are  not  destroyed.  There  is  still  one  man  left  that  is 
worthy  of  my  friendship  ;  for  its  real  value  consists  more 
in  what  one  feels  than  in  what  one  inspires  :  but  I  have 
lost  the  pleasure  I  enjoyed  in  his,  and  can  only  rank  him  in 
the  number  of  those  I  love,  but  with  whom  I  am  no  longer 
connected.  He  went  to  England  to  receive  the  King-'s  par- 
don, and  buy  back  his  confiscated  property.  We  did  not 
separate  without  purposing  a  reunion — an  idea  that  seemed 
to  give  him  as  much  pleasure  as  it  did  myself.  His  inten- 
tion was  to  settle  on  his  estate  of  Keith-Hall,  near  Aberdeen, 
where  I  was  to  go  and  live  along  with  him;  but  the  project 
was  too  agreeable  for  me  to  hope  that  it  would  ever  be  car- 
ried out.  He  did  not  remain  in  Scotland.  The  tender 
solicitation  of  the  King  of  Prussia  induced  him  to  return  to 
Berlin,  and  the  reason  of  my  not  going  there  and  joining 
him  will  presently  appear. 

Before  his  departure,  foreseeing  the  storm  they  were 
beginning  to  raise  around  me,  he  of  his  own  accord  sent  me 
letters  of  naturalization,  apparently  a  sure  means  of  pre- 
venting my  being  driven  out  of  the  country.  The  Commu- 
nity of  Couvet,  in  Val-de-Travers,  imitated  the  Governor's 
example,  and  gave  me  letters  of  *  communion^  (communier), 


3Y4  roussead's  confessions. 

gratis,  as  were  the  first.  Having  thus  become  in  every  re- 
spect a  citizen  of  the  country,  I  was  sheltered  from  all  legal 
expulsion,  even  on  the  part  of  the  prince  :  but  it  has  never 
been  by  legitimate  means  that  my  enemies  have  persecuted 
the  man  who  of  all  men  has  most  strictly  observed  the 
laws. 

I  know  not  as  it  is  my  duty  to  count  the  death  of  the 
Abbe  de  Mably  among  the  list  of  my  losses  at  this  time. 
Having  lived  in  his  brother's  house,  I  had  been  in  a  way 
connected  with  him,  but  never  very  intimately  ;  and  I 
have  some  reason  to  believe  that  his  feelings  towards  me 
had  changed  since  I  have  acquired  a  greater  celebrity  than 
himself.  It  was  on  the  publication  of  the  '  Letters  from  the 
Mountain',  however,  that  I  had  the  first  proof  of  his  ill 
will.  A  letter  was  handed  round  in  Geneva  addressed  to 
Madam  Saladin,  which  was  attributed  to  him,  and  wherein 
he  spoke  of  this  work  as  the  seditious  clamors  of  a  furious 
demagogue.  The  esteem  I  felt  for  the  Abbe  de  Mably  and 
the  high  opinion  in  which  1  held  his  culture  would  not  for  a 
moment  permit  me  to  believe  that  this  extravagant  letter 
was  by  him.  I  pursued  the  course  in  the  matter  that  my 
frankness  inspired  me  with.  I  sent  him  a  copy  of  the  letter, 
advertising  him  that  it  was  attributed  to  his  pen.  He 
made  me  no  rejily.  This  silence  astonished  me  :  but  judge 
of  my  surprise,  when  Madam  de  Chenonceaux  informed  me 
that  the  letter  was  really  by  the  Abbe,  and  tliat  mine  had 
hugely  embarrassed  him.  For  even  supposing  for  a  moment 
that  what  he  stated  was  true,  how  could  he  justify  so  open 
an  attack,  wantonly  made,  without  obligation  or  necessity, 
for  the  sole  purpose  of  overwhelming,  amid  his  greatest 
misfortunes,  a  mau  to  whom  he  had  shown  himself  a  well- 
wisher,  and  who  had  done  nothing  that  could  excite  his 
enmity  ?  Shortly  afterwards  appeared  the  '  Dialogues  of 
Phocion,'  wliich  I  regard  as  nothing  but  a  most  open  and 
bare-faced  compilation  from  my  writings.  I  Mt,  in  reading 
this  book,  tliat  the  author  liad  made  up  his  mind  as  to  me,  and 
that  1  must  henceforth  number  him  among  my  bitterest 
enemies.  I  suspect  he  has  never  forgiven  me  the  '  Social 
Contract' — a  work  quite  above  his  ability,  nor  yet  the 
'  Perpetual  Peace  ;'  and  I  am  of  opinion  that  he  had  seem- 
ed desirous  for  me  to  make  an  abstract  from  the  Abbe  de 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  XII.      1164.  315 

Saint-Pierre  only  on  the  supposition  that  I  would  not 
acquit  myself  so  well  of  the  task. 

The  farther  I  advance  in  my  story,  the  less  order  and 
sequence  I  find  I  can  put  into  it.  The  agitation  of  the 
subse-queut  years  of  my  life  has  not  allowed  the  multitude 
of  events  time  to  arrange  themselves  in  my  head.  They 
are  too  numerous,  too  mixed  up  and  to, disagreeable  to  be 
narrated  without  confusion.  The  only  powerful  impression 
they  have  left  on  my  mind  is  the  horrible  mystery  that 
shrouds  their  cause,  and  the  deplorable  pass  to  which  they 
have  reduced  me.  My  course  can  henceforth  proceed  only 
at  a  venture,  and  according  as  ideas  may  occur  to  me.  I 
recollect  that  about  the  time  to  which  I  refer,  full  of  the 
idea  of  my  '  Confessions,'  I  very  imprudently  spoke  of  them 
to  every  body,  never  imagining  it  could  be  the  wish  or 
interest,  much  less  within  the  power  of  any  one  whatever 
to  throw  an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  this  undertaking  ;  and 
even  had  I  suspected  such  a  thing,  this  would  not  have 
rendered  me  a  whit  more  discreet,  from  the  total  impossibi- 
lity which  from  temperament,  I  find  in  concealing  aught  I 
think  or  feel.  This  undertaking  was,  as  far  as  I  can  judge, 
the  true  cause  of  the  storm  they  raised  around  me,  so  as 
to  drive  me  from  Switzerland,  and  deliver  me  into  hands 
that  would  prevent  me  from  executing  it. 

I  had  another  project  in  contemplation,  that  was  not 
looked  on  with  a  much  more  favorable  eye  by  those  who 
feared  the  first  :  namely  the  getting  out  of  an  edition  of 
my  complete  works.  Such  an  edition  appeared  to  me  called 
for,  so  as  to  attest  which,  out  of  the  books  that  bore  my 
name,  were  really  by  me,  and  furnish  the  public  the  means  of 
distinguishing  them  from  the  writings  falsely  attributed  to 
me  by  my  friends  (1)  so  as  to  bring  me  into  dishonor  and 
contempt.  Besides,  this  edition  would  be  a  simple  and 
honorable  means  of  insuring  me  a  livelihood.  And  indeed, 
this  was  the  sole  means  1  had  left  as  I  had  given  up  the 
profession  of  authorship,  as  my  memoirs  could  not  appear 
during  my  life  time,  and  as  I  was  not  gaining  a  cent  in  any 
other  way  :  so,  having  always  to  be  at  expense  for  our 
support,  1  saw  that  my  resources  would  come  to  an  end 
when  the  produce  of  my  works  should  give  out.  This 
reason  had  induced  me  to  sell  my  'Musical  Dictionary,' 


316  Rousseau's  confessions, 

still  in  a  crude  state.  It  had  brought  me  a  hundred  louia 
in  cash  and  an  income  of  a  hundred  crowns  a  year  ;  but 
how  long  was  a  hundred  louis  to  last  when  I  spent  more 
than  sixty  a  year  ;  and  a  hundred  crowns  per  annum  were 
like  nothing  for  a  man  that  was  beset  by  a  host  of  suckers  and 
beggars  that  came  down  on  me  like  a  swarm  of  musquitoes. 

A  company  of  jobbers  from  Neufchatel  came  to  under- 
take this  general  edition  and  a  printer  or  publisher  from 
Lyons,  called  Reguillat,  thrust  himself,  by  what  means  1 
know  not,  among  them  to  direct  the  work.  The  agreement 
was  made  on  reasonable  terms,  affording  me  sufficient  to 
carry  out  my  plan.  I  had  with  my  printed  works  and 
other  pieces  still  in  manuscript,  enough  to  make  six  quarto 
volumes  ;  I  agreed,  besides,  to  watch  over  the  getting  out 
of  the  edition  :  in  consideration  for  this  they  were  to  give 
me  a  life  annuity  of  six  hundred  livres  of  France,  and  a 
present  of  a  thousand  crowns  down. 

(1T65).  The  treaty  was  concluded,  though  not  yet  signed, 
when  the  '  Letters  from  the  Mountain  '  appeared.  The  tre- 
mendous explosion  that  arose  against  this  infernal  work  and 
its  abominable  author  scared  the  company,  and  the  enter- 
prise vanished  into  smoke.  I  would  compare  the  effect  of 
this  last  work  to  that  of  the  '  Letter  on  French  Music/ 
had  not  that  letter  while  it  drew  down  on  me  the  bitterest 
hatred  and  exposed  me  to  imminent  peril,  left  me  at  least 
consideration  and  esteem.  But,  after  this  last  work,  it  was 
a  matter  of  astonishment  at  Geneva  and  Versailles  that 
such  a  monster  as  myself  should  be  allowed  to  live.  The 
'Lower  Council'  {pciit  conseil,)  stirred  up  by  the  French 
Resident  and  directed  by  the  Attorney-General,  issued  a 
decree  touching  my  v/ork,  wherein  it  was  declared,  with 
the  most  atrocious  qualifications,  unworthy  of  being  burned 
by  the  hands  of  the  hangman,  adding,  with  a  craft  ap- 
proaching the  burlesque,  that  it  would  be  impossible  for 
any  one  to  reply  thereto  or  even  make  the  least  mention 
thereof,  without  dishonoring  himself.  I  should  hke  to 
give  this  curious  piece  here  ;  but  unlbrtunately  I  have  not 
it,  and  I  do  not  remember  a  single  word  of  its  contents. 
I  ardently  desire  that  some  one  of  my  readers,  animated 
by  the  zeal  for  truth  and  equity,  will  go  over  the  whole  of 
the  '  Letters  from  the  Mountain  ;'  he  will,  I  venture  to 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  XII      1165.  311 

say,  appreciate  the  stoical  moderation  that  reigns  through- 
out the  work,  after  the  keen  and  cruel  outrages  wherewith 
my  enemies  had,  to  their  hearts'  content,  been  overwhelm- 
ing me.  Unable,  however,  to  reply  to  the  abuse  because 
there  was  none,  nor  to  the  reasons  because  they  were  un- 
answerable, they  shirked  into  the  dodge  of  seeming  too 
wrathy  to  reply;  and  it  is  true  enough  that  if  they  took 
invincible  argument  for  abuse,  they  must  have  held  them- 
selves dreadfully  abused  indeed  I 

The  remonstrating  party,  far  from  making  any  complaint 
against  this  odious  declaration,  followed  the  route  it  track- 
ed out  for  them  ;  and,  in  place  of  glorying  in  the  '  Letters 
from  the  Mountain,'  which  they  veiled  to  make  a  buckler 
out  of  them,  they  were  base  enough  neither  to  render  honor 
nor  justice  to  the  work,  though  written  on  purpose  to  de- 
fend them  and  at  their  own  solicitation,  nor  yet  to  quote 
nor  mention  it,  though  they  very  coolly  drew  all  their  argu- 
ments therefrom,  and  though  the  exactitude  with  which 
they  followed  the  advice  with  which  the  work  concludes 
was  the  sole  cause  of  their  safety  and  triumph.  They  had  im- 
posed this  duty  on  me  :  I  had  fulfilled  it,  and  had  served 
their  cause  and  country  to  the  end.  I  begged  of  them  to 
abandon  me  and  think  of  nothing  but  themselves  in  their 
quarrels.  They  took  me  at  my  word,  and  I  concerned  my- 
self no  more  about  their  affairs,  further  than  constantly  to 
exhort  them  to  peace,  not  doubting,  should  they  continue 
to  be  obstinate,  of  their  being  crushed  by  France.  This, 
how^ever,  did  not  happen  ;  why,  I  know,  but  this  is  not  the 
place-to  tell  it. 

The  effect  produced  at  Neufchatel  by  the  'Letters  from 
the  Mountain'  was  at  first  very  slight.  I  sent  a  copy  to 
M.'de  Montmollin,  who  received  it  favorably,  and  read  it 
through  without  making  any  objection  to  it.  Just  then,  he 
was  ill  like  myself ;  as  soon  as  he  recovered,  he  came  in  a 
friendly  manner  to  see  me,  but  made  no  allusion  to  the  matter. 
The  storm  was  rising  however  ;  the  book  was  burned  I 
know  not  where.  From  Geneva,  from  Berne,  from  Versail- 
les, perhaps,  the  excitement  quickly  spread  to  Keufchatel, 
and  especially  to  Val-de-Travers,  where,  before  even  the 
ministers  had  taken  any  apparent  steps,  an  attempt  was 
secretly  made  to  stir  up  the  people.    It  ought,  I  made  bold 


378  Rousseau's  confessions. 

to  declare,  to  have  been  beloved  by  the  people  of  that  coun- 
try, as  I  have  always  been  wherever  I  lived  :  I  gave  alms 
in  abundance,  not  leaving  about  me  an  indigent  person 
without  assistance,  never  refusing  to  do  anybody  any  ser- 
vice that  was  in  my  power,  and  was  consistent  with  justice, 
making  myself  perhaps  too  familiar  with  everybody,  and 
avoiding,  as  far  as  I  possibly  could,  all  distinction  that 
might  excite  jealousy.  All  this,  however,  did  not  prevent 
the  populace,  secretly  stirred  up  against  me,  by  I  know  not 
whom,  from  becoming  by  degrees  excited  against  me  to  very 
fury,  nor  from  publicly  insulting  me,  not  only  in  the  country 
and  upon  the  road,  but  in  the  street.  Those  whom  I  had 
done  most  for  became  the  most  violent  and  spiteful  ;  and 
even  people  who  still  continued  to  receive  my  benefactions, 
not  daring  to  take  any  hand  themselves,  excited  others, 
and  seemed  to  wish  thus  to  take  revenge  for  the  humiliation 
of  being  obliged  to  me.  Montmollin  seemed  to  pay  no  at- 
tention to  what  was  going  on,  and  as  yet  took  no  hand. 
But  as  the  communion  season  approached,  he  came  to  ad- 
vise me  not  to  present  myself  at  the  holy  table,  assur- 
ing me,  however,  that  he  wished  me  no  harm,  and 
that  he  would  leave  me  undisturbed.  I  thought  this 
compliment  whimsical  enough  ;  it  brought  to  my  recol- 
lection Madam  de  Boufflers'  letter,  and  I  could  not  for  the  life 
of  me  conceive  whom  in  the  world  my  communing  or  non-com- 
muning could  affect  so  mightily.  Esteeming  that  this  con- 
descension would  be  a  piece  of  cowardice  on  my  part,  and 
being  unwilling,  besides,  to  give  the  people  a  new  pretence 
for  raising  the  cry  of  impiety,  I  refused  the  request  of  the 
minister  point  blank  ;  and  he  went  away  very  much  dissat- 
isfied, giving  me  to  understand  that  I  should  repent  it. 

lie  could  not  of  his  own  authority  forbid  me  the  commu- 
nion ;  it  needed  that  of  the  Presbytery  that  had  admitted  me ; 
and  as  long  as  they  had  made  no  objection  I  might  present 
myself  without  fear  of  being  refused.  Montmollin  procur- 
ed a  warrant  from  the  '  Classe'  to  summon  me  before  the 
Presbytery,  there  to  give  an  account  of  the  articles  of  my 
faith,  and  to  excommunicate  me  should  I  refuse  to  comply. 
This  excommunication,  too,  could  only  be  pronounced  with 
the  consent  of  a  majority  of  the  votes  of  the  Presljytery. 
But  the  peasants  who,  under  the  appellation   of  '  Elders,' 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  XII.       1765.  319 

compose  this  assembly,  presided  over,  and,  as  you  may 
well  suppose,  governed  by  their  minister,  would  not  be  very 
likely  to  diifer  in  opinion  from  him,  especially  on  theologi- 
cal matters,  which  they  understood  still  less  than  he  did. 
Accordingly,  I  was  cited,  and  I  resolved  to  appear. 

What  a  happy  circumstance,  what  a  triumph  for  me, 
had  I  been  able  to  speak,  and  had  I,  so  to  speak,  had  my 
pen  in  my  mouth  !  With  what  superiority,  with  what 
facility  should  I  have  overthrown  that  poor  minister  in  the 
midst  of  his  six  peasants  !  The  thirst  after  power  having 
made  the  Prostestant  clergy  forget  all  the  principles  of  the 
reformation,  all  I  had  to  do  to  bring  the  matter  home  to 
them,  and  reduce  them  to  silence,  was  to  comment  upon  the 
first  of  my  '  Letters  from  the  Mountain,'  upon  which  they 
had  the  folly  to  animadvert.  My  text  was  at  hand,  I  had 
but  to  enlarge  on  it,  aud  my  adversary  was  confounded.  I 
should  not  have  been  weak  enough  to  have  remained  on  the 
defensive  ;  it  would  have  been  easy  for  me  to  have  become 
an  assailant  without  his  ever  perceiving  it,  or  being  able  to 
shelter  himself  from  my  attack.  The  contemptible  set  of 
priests  that  composed  the  '  Classe,'  as  dull-witted  as  ignor- 
ant, had  of  themselves  placed  me  in  the  most  favorable  posi- 
sition  I  could  have  desired  to  crush  them  at  pleasure.  But 
what  mattered  this  ?  Should  not  I  be  compelled  to  speak, 
and  speak  off  hand,  finding  ideas,  turns  of  expression,  and 
words  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  to  preserve  my  pre- 
sence of  mind,  keeping  perfectly  cool  and  collected,  and 
never  allowing  myself  to  be  put  out  for  a  moment  ?  What 
hope  was  there  for  me,  feeling,  as  I  did,  my  utter  want  of 
ability  to  express  myself  impromptu  ?  I  had  been  reduced 
to  the  most  mortifying  silence  at  Geneva,  before  an  assem- 
bly that  was  favorable  to  me,  and  previously  resolved  to 
approve  of  everything  I  should  say.  Here  it  was  quite  the 
contriiry  ;  I  should  have  to  do  with  a  caviler  who,  substi- 
tuting cunning  for  knowledge,  would  spread  a  hundred  snares 
for  me  before  I  could  perceive  one  of  them,  and  was  reso- 
lutely bent  on  tripping  me  up,  let  the  consequence  be  what 
it  might.  The  more  I  examined  the  situation  in  which  I 
would  be  placed,  the  more  perilous  did  it  seem  to  me  ;  at 
the  same  time,  feeling  the  impossibility  of  getting  out  of  it 
successfully,  I  thought  of  another  expedient.     I  meditated 


380  Rousseau's  confessions. 

a  discourse  which  I  intended  pronouncing  before  the  Pres- 
bytery, taking  exception  to  its  proceedings,  and  ridding  my- 
self of  the  necessity  of  replying.  The  thing  was  very  easy. 
I  v/rote  the  discourse,  and  set  to  learning  it  by  heart  with 
inconceivable  ardor.  Therese  laughed  at  hearing  me  mut- 
tering away  at  the  same  phrase  over  and  over  again,  en- 
deavoring to  cram  them  into  ray  head.  I  hoped  at  length 
that  I  had  my  speech  firm  and  fast.  I  knew  that  the  Cha- 
telain  would,  as  an  officer  attached  to  the  service  of  the 
prince,  be  present  at  the  Presbytery,  and  that  spite  of 
the  manoeuvres  and  the  bottles  of  MoatmoUin,  most  of 
the  elders  were  well  disposed  towards  me.  In  my  favor, 
moreover,  I  had  reason,  truth  and  justice,  with  the  protec- 
tion of  the  King,  the  authority  of  the  Council  of  State,  and 
the  good  wishes  of  every  real  patriot,  to  whom  the  estab- 
lishment of  this  inquisition  was  menacing.  In  fine,  every 
thing  went  to  encourage  me. 

On  the  eve  of  the  day  appointed,  I  had  my  discourse  by  rote, 
and  went  through  it  without  missing  a  word.  I  kept  going  over 
it  all  night  in  my  head :  in  the  morning  I  had  forgotten  it ! 
I  hesitated  at  every  word,  thought  myself  before  the  illustrious 
assembly,  became  confused,  stammered,  and  lost  my  presence 
of  mind.  In  fine,  when  the  time  to  make  my  appearance  was 
almost  at  hand,  I  wrote  to  the  Presbytery,  hastily  stating  my 
reasons,  and,  as  an  excuse,  pleading  my  disorder,  which  really, 
in  the  state  to  which  apprehension  had  reduced  me,  would 
scarcely  have  permitted  me  to  stay  out  the  whole  sitting. 

The  minister,  embarrassed  by  my  letter,  adjourned  the 
matter  to  another  meeting.  In  the  interim,  he  put  forth  his 
utmost  eiforts  both  directly  and  through  his  creatures  to  se- 
duce those  of  the  elders  who,  following  the  details  of  their 
consciences,  rather  than  the  instructions  they  received  from 
him,  did  not  vote  according  to  his  wishes  or  those  of  the 
*  Classe.'  Whatever  power  his  cellar-arguments  may  have  had 
over  this  sort  of  pcoi)le,  he  could  not  gain  over  any  of  them, 
more  than  two  or  three  who  were  already  under  his  sway, 
and  who  were  called  his  '  Lost  Souls'  (Ame.s  damnces).  The 
officer  of  the  prince,  and  Colonel  Pury,  who  acted  with  great 
zeal  in  this  affiiir,  kept  the  rest  to  their  duty  ;  and  whep 
JMontmolliu  was  minded  to  proceed  to  excommunication,  hi^ 
Presbytery  by  a  majority  of  votes,  flatly  refused  to  author 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  XII.       1165.  381 

ize  him.  Thus  reduced  to  the  last  resort — stu-rmg  up  the 
people  agaiust  me,  he  with  his  colleagues  and  others  openly 
set  about  it,  and  so  successful  were  they  that  notwithstand- 
ing the  strong  and  frequent  mandates  of  the  King,  and  the 
orders  of  the  Council  of  State,  I  was  at  length  obhged  to 
quit  the  country,  so  as  not  to  expose  the  officer  of  the  Kmg, 
to  be  hunself  assassinated  while  protecting  me. 

The  recollection  I  have  of  the  whole  of  this  affair  is  so 
confused  that  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  put  any  sort  of  order 
or  sequence  into  the  ideas  thereof  that  recm'  to  my  mind,  so 
that  I  shall  be  under  the  necessity  of  stating  matters  isolately 
and  confusedly,  as  I  recall  them.  I  remember  a  kind  of  ne- 
gociation  had  been  entered  into  with  the  '  Classe,'  in  which 
MontmoUin  was  the  mediator.  He  feigned  it  was  feared  my 
writings  would  disturb  the  peace  of  the  country  ;  and  if  so, 
it  would  of  course  be  imputed  to  my  liberty  of  writmg.  He 
had  given  me  to  understand  that  if  I  would  consent  to  lay 
aside  my  pen,  the  past  would  be  forgotten.  This  engage- 
ment I  had  already  entered  into  with  myself,  and  I  did  not 
hesitate  doing  it  with  the  '  Classe, '  though  conditionally,  and 
solely  in  matters  of  religion.  He  contrived  to  get  two  copies 
of  the  agreement  under  pretence  of  some  change  necessary 
to  be  made  in  it.  The  condition  having  been  rejected  by 
the  '  Classe, '  I  demanded  back  the  writing  :  he  returned  me 
one  copy  but  kept  the  duphcate,  pretending  it  was  lost. 
After  this,  the  people,  openly  set  on  by  the  mmisters,  laughed 
at  the  King's  mandates  and  the  orders  of  the  Council  of  State, 
and  shook  off  all  restraint.  I  was  made  the  subject  of  pul- 
pit-eloquence, called  Antichrist,  and  pursued  in  the  country 
like  a  mad  dog.  My  Armenian  dress  discovered  me  to  the 
populace  :  of  this  I  felt  the  terrible  inconvenience,  but  to  quit 
it  in  such  circumstances  would,  it  seemed  to  me,  be  an  act 
of  cowardice.  I  could  not  prevail  upon  myself  to  do  it,  and 
I  quietly  took  my  walks  in  the  country  with  my  caffetan  and 
fm*  bonnet  amid  the  hootings  of  the  dregs  of  the  people,  and 
sometunes  through  a  shower  of  stones.  Several  times,  as 
I  passed  before  houses,  I  heard  the  inmates  call  out :  '  Bring 
me  my  gun  that  I  may  shoot  him.'  As  this  did  not  make 
me  hasten  my  pace  in  the  least,  my  calmness  increased  their 
fuiy,  but  they  never  went  farther  than  thi'eats,  at  least  with 
respect  to  fire-arms. 


382  Rousseau's  confessions. 

During  all  tliis  excitement,  there  were  two  very  great 
pleasures  I  had,  and  to  which  I  was  very  sensible.  The  first 
was  my  having  it  in  my  power  to  perform  an  act  of  gratitude 
by  means  of  the  Lord  Marshal.  The  respectable  part  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Xeufchatel,  full  of  indignation  at  the  treat- 
ment I  received,  and  the  quirks  and  conspiracies  whereof  I 
was  the  victim,  held  the  ministers  in  execration,  clearly  per- 
ceiving they  were  under  out-side  influence,  and  the  vUe  sy- 
cophants of  people,  who,  making  them  act,  kept  themselves 
concealed ;  they  were  moreover  afraid  my  case  would  have 
dangerous  consequences,  and  be  made  a  precedent  for  the  es- 
tablishment of  a  regular  inquisition.  The  magistrates  and 
especially  M.  Meuron,  who  had  succeeded  M.  d'lvernois  in 
the  office  of  Attorney-General,  made  every  effort  to  defend 
me.  Colonel  Pury,  although  merely  a  private  individual, 
did  more,  and  succeeded  better.  It  was  the  Colonel  who 
found  means  to  make  MontmoUin  bite  the  dust  in  the  Pres- 
bytery, by  keeping  the  'Elders'  to  theu"  duty.  He  had 
influence,  and  employed  it  to  stop  the  sedition  ;  but  he  had 
nothing  more  than  the  authority  of  the  laws,  and  the  aid  of 
justice  and  reason,  to  oppose  to  the  persuasions  of  money  and 
wine.  The  combat  was  unequal,  and  in  this  point  Montmol- 
lin  was  triumphant.  However,  thankful  for  his  zeal  and  so- 
licitude, I  wished  I  had  it  in  my  power  to  make  him  a  return 
of  good  offices,  and  in  some  measure  repay  him  for  the  obli- 
gations I  was  under  to  him.  I  knew  he  was  very  desirous 
of  being  ai^pointed  Counsellor  of  State  ;  but  having  displeased 
the  com*t  by  his  conduct  in  the  matter  of  the  minister  Petit> 
picrre,  he  was  in  disgrace  with  the  prince  and  governor. 
However,  I  risked  writing  to  my  Lord  Marshal  in  his  favor  ; 
I  went  so  far  as  even  to  mention  the  post  he  desired,  and  my 
application  was  so  well  received,  that,  contrary  to  the  ex- 
pectations of  his  most  ardent  well-wishers,  the  honor  Avas  al- 
most instantly  conferred  upon  him  by  the  King.  Thus  was 
it  that  fate,  which  has  ever  set  me  at  the  same  time  too  high 
or  too  low,  continued  to  toss  me  from  one  extreme  to  the 
other  ;  and  whilst  the  populace  covered  me  with  mud,  I  had 
the  making  of  one  of  their  Counsellors  of  State. 

Tlie  other  pleasing  circumstance  was  a  visit  I  received 
from  Madam  de  Verdeliu  and  her  daughter,  with  whom  she 
had  been  to  the  baths  of  Bourbonne,  whence  they  came  to 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  XII.      1Y65,  383 

Motiers  and  staid  with  me  two  or  three  days.  By  her  at- 
tention and  cares,  she  at  length  conquered  my  long  repug- 
nance ;  and  my  heart,  won  by  her  endearing  manner,  made 
her  a  return  of  all  the  friendship  of  which  she  had  so  long 
given  me  proofs.  This  journey  made  me  extremely  sensi- 
ble of  her  kindness  ;  my  situation  rendered  the  consolations 
of  friendship  highly  necessary  to  enable  me  to  bear  up 
under  ray  sufferings.  I  was  afraid  she  would  be  too  much 
affected  by  the  insults  I  received  from  the  populace,  and 
could  have  wished  to  conceal  them  from  her,  that  her  feel- 
ings might  not  be  hurt ;  but  this  was  impossible  ;  and 
although  her  presence  was  some  check  upon  the  insolent 
populace  in  our  walks,  she  saw  enough  of  their  brutality  to 
judge  of  what  passed  when  I  was  alone.  It  was,  by  the 
way,  during  her  stay  with  me  that  I  began  to  be  attacked 
at  night  in  my  own  house.  One  morning  her  chamber 
maid  found  my  window  blocked  up  with  stones,  which  had 
been  thrown  at  it  during  the  night.  A  very  massive  bench, 
placed  in  the  street,  by  the  side  of  the  house,  and  strongly 
fastened  down,  was  taken  up  and  set  on  end  against  the 
door  in  such  a  manner  that,  had  it  not  been  perceived  from 
the  window,  it  would  have  knocked  down  the  first  person 
that  opened  the  door  to  go  out.  Madam  de  Verdelin  was 
acquainted  with  everything  that  passed  ;  for  besides  what 
she  herself  was  witness  to,  her  confidential  servant  made 
himself  extensively  acquainted  throughout  the  village, 
spoke  to  everybody,  and  was  seen  in  conversation  with 
MontmoUin.  She  did  not,  however,  seem  to  pay  the  least 
attention  to  what  happened  to  me,  made  no  mention  of 
MontmoUin  or  any  other  person,  and  made  very  little 
answer  to  what  I  said  to  her  of  him  at  various  times,  seeming 
persuaded,  only,  that  a  residence  in  England  would  be  more 
agreeable  to  me  than  anywhere  else,  she  frequently  spoke 
to  me  of  Mr.  Hume  who  was  then  in  Paris,  of  his  friend- 
ship for  me,  and  the  desire  he  had  of  being  of  service  tome 
in  his  own  country.  It  is  time  I  should  say  something  of 
Mr.  Hume. 

He  had  acquired  a  great  reputation  in  France  amongst 
the  EncyclopjEdists  by  his  Essays  on  Commerce  and  Politics, 
and  latterly  by  his  History  of  the  House  of  Stuart,  the  only 
one  of  his  writings  of  which  I  had  read  a  part  (in  the 


384  Rousseau's  confessions. 

translation  by  the  Abbe  Prevot).  For  want  of  being 
acquainted  with  his  other  works,  I  was  persuaded,  from 
what  I  heard  of  him,  that  Mr.  Hume  joined  a  very  republi- 
can mind  to  the  English  paradoxes  in  favor  of  luxury.  In 
this  thought,  I  considered  this  whole  apology  for  Charles 
I.  as  a  prodigy  of  impartiality,  and  I  had  as  high  an  idea 
of  his  virtue  as  of  his  genius.  The  desire  of  becoming  ac- 
quainted with  this  great  man,  and  of  obtaining  his  friend- 
ship, had  greatly  strengthened  the  inclination  I  felt  to 
go  to  England,  induced  by  the  solicitations  of  Madam  de 
Boufflers,  Hume's  intimate  friend.  After  ray  arrival  in 
Switzerland,  I  received  from  him,  through  this  lady,  an  ex- 
tremely flattering  letter,  in  which  to  the  highest  encomiums 
on  my  genius,  he  subjoined  a  pressing  invitation  for  me  to 
go  to  England,  and  the  offer  of  all  his  interest  and  that  of 
his  friends  to  make  my  residence  there  agreeable.  On  the 
spot  was  my  Lord  Marshal,  the  countryman  and  friend  of 
Mr.  Hume,  who  confirmed  my  good  opinion  of  him,  and 
from  whom,  I  learned  a  literary  anecdote  that  had  quite 
struck  him,  as  it  also  did  me.  Wallace,  who  had  written 
against  Hume  touching  the  population  of  the  ancients,  was 
absent  whilst  his  work  was  going  through  the  press.  Hume 
undertook  to  read  the  proofs  and  supervise  the  getting  out 
of  the  work.  This  way  of  doing  things  was  like  me.  I 
had  made  out  and  sold  for  six  pence  a  piece  copies  of  a 
song  written  against  myself.  Thus  I  was  strongly  prepos- 
sessed in  Hume's  favor  when  Madam  de  Verdelin  came  and 
mentioned  the  lively  friendship  he  felt  for  me  and  his  anxi- 
ety to  do  me  the  honors  of  England,  for  so  she  phrased  it. 
She  pressed  me  a  good  deal  to  take  advantage  of  this  zeal, 
and  write  to  Mr.  Hume.  As  I  had  naturally  no  liking  for  Eng- 
land, and  did  not  intend  going  there  but  as  a  last  shift,  I  re- 
fused to  write  or  make  any  promise,  but  I  left  her  at  liberty 
to  do  whatever  she  might  think  necessary  to  keep  Mr.  Hume 
favorably  disposed  towards  me.  When  she  left  Motiers,  she 
left  me  in  the  persuasion,  by  everything  she  had  said  to  me 
of  that  '  illustrious  man,'  that  he  was  my  friend,  and  she 
herself  still  more  his. 

After  her  departure  MontraoUin  carried  on  his  plots 
with  more  vigor,  and  tlie  populace  threw  off  all  restraint. 
However,  I  still   continued  quietly  to  take  my  walks  amid 


PERIOD  11.       BOOK  XII.       1165.  385 

the  hootings  of  the  vulgar  ;  and  a  taste  for  Botany 
which  I  had  begun  to  contract  while  with  Dr.  d'lvernois 
giving  my  rambles  a  new  interest,  I  went  herborizing 
through  the  country  unaffected  by  the  clamors  of  the  rab- 
ble, whose  fury  but  grew  hotter  at  seeing  me  so  calm  and 
cool.  What  affected  me  most  was  to  see  the  families  of  my 
friends,  *  or  persons  who  called  themselves  such,  openly 
joining  the  league  of  my  persecutors  ;  such  as  the  d'lvernois, 
without  even  excepting  the  father  and  brother  of  my 
Isabelle,  Boy  de  la  Tour,  a  relation  of  the  friend  in  whose 
house  I  lodged,  and  Madam  Girardier,  her  sister-in-law. 
This  Pierre  Boy  was  such  a  stupid  lout  and  acted  so 
brutally  that  not,  to  get  angry  at  him,  I  allowed  myself  to 
ridicule  him  ;  and  I  wrote  a  pamphlet  of  a  few  pages 
after  the  manner  of  the  '  Petit  Propliete,'  entitled  '  The 
Vision  of  Peter  of  the  Mountain  yclept  the  Seer ' — {la  Vision 
de.  Pierre  de  la  Montague  dit  le  Voyant),  in  which  I  found 
means  to  be  diverting  enough  over  the  miracles  which  then 
served  as  a  main  pretext  for  my  persecution.  Du  Peyroa 
had  this  scrap  printed  at  Geneva,  but  its  success  in  the 
country  was  but  moderate  ;  the  Neufchatelese,  with  all 
their  wit,  having  but  little  appreciation  of  attic  salt,  or 
even  pleasantry,  when  it  is  a  little  subtle. 

I  was  somewhat  more  careful  with  another  production 
of  the  same  period,  the  manuscript  of  which  will  be  found 
among  my  papers,  and  the  subject  whereof  I  must  mention 
in  this  connection. 

In  the  height  of  the  decree-and-persecution-mania  the 
Genevese  had  specially  distinguished  themselves  by  setting 
up  a  hue  and  cry  w^ith  all  their  might  ;  and  my  friend 
Vernes,  among  others,  with  generosity  truly  theologic,  chose 

*  T^is  fatality  had  begun  with  my  sojurn  at  Yverdun  ;  for  Banne- 
ret Kofruin  having  died  a  year  or  two  after  my  departure  from  that 
place,  old  '  Papa  Koguin  '  had  the  honesty  to  inform  me,  with  grief, 
that  they  had  found  among  his  relative's  papers  proofs  that  he  had  a 
hand  in  the  plots  for  my  expulsion  from  Yverdun  and  the  State  of 
Berne.  'Tis  very  clearly  proved,  that  the  plot  was  no  '  bigots'  affair', 
as  they  had  tried  to  make  it  out,  seeing  that  Banneret  Roguin,  so  far 
from  being  a  devotee,  pushed  materialism  and  skepticism  to  very  intole- 
rance and  fanaticism.  Besides,  no  body  at  Yverdun  had  been  so  taken  with 
me,  or  so  lavished  caresses,  praise  and  flattery  on  me,  as  that  same  Banne- 
ret Roguin.    He  faithfullv  followed  the  cherished  plan  of  mv  persecutors. 

II.  '  17 


386  Rousseau's  confessions. 

precisely  that  moment  to  publish  certain  letters  against  me, 
wherein  he  pretended  to  prove  I  was  not  a  Christian.  These 
letters,  written  in  a  tone  of  self-sufficiency  that  did  not  im- 
prove them  much,  were  as  wretched  as  could  well  be  imag- 
ined, albeit  Bonnet  the  Naturalist  was  positively  said  to  have 
had  a  hand  in  them  ;  for  this  same  Bonnet,  though  a 
MateriaUst,  has  a  dodge  of  becoming  most  intolerably  ortho- 
dox the  moment  I  am  in  question.  There  certainly  was 
nothing  in  this  work  to  tempt  me  to  answer  it  ;  but  an  op- 
portunity was  afforded  me  to  say  a  few  words  on  it  in  my 
'  Letters  from  the  Mountain.'  I  inserted  therein  a  brief  note 
expressive  enough  of  disdain  to  render  Yernes  furious.  He 
filled  Geneva  with  his  cries  of  rage,  and  d'lvernois  wrote  me 
that  he  was  quite  beside  himself.  Sometime  afterwards, 
appeared  an  anonymous  sheet  which  seemed  to  be  writ,  not 
in  ink,  but  in  water  from  Phlegethon.  In  this  letter  I  was 
accused  of  having  exposed  my  children  in  the  street,  of 
training  a  soldier's  trull  around  with  me,  of  being  used  up 
with  debauchery,  pocked  with  the  bad  disorder,  and  other 
fine  things  of  a  like  nature.  It  was  not  hard  for  me  to  see 
who  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  matter.  My  first  idea  on 
reading  this  libel  was  to  'estimate  at  its  real  value  every- 
thing the  world  calls  fame  and  reputation  :  seeing  a  man 
who  was  never  in  a  bad-house  in  his  fife,  and  whose  greatest 
failing  was  his  being  as  timid  and  shy  as  a  virgin  treated  as 
a  frequenter  of  places  of  that  description,  and  finding  myself 
charged  with  being  pocked  with  the  bad  disorder,  I  who 
not  only  never  had  the  least  taint  of  anything  of  the  sort, 
but  was,  in  the  opinion  of  medical  men,  so  conformed  as  to 
make  it  all  but  impossible  for  me  to  contract  it.  Everything 
considered,  I  thought  I  could  not  better  refute  this  libel 
than  by  having  it  printed  in  the  city  where  I  had  lived  the 
longest ;  and  with  this  intention  I  sent  it  to  Duchesne  to 
have  it  printed  just  as  it  was,  with  an  advertisement  wherein 
I  named  M.  Verues  as  the  author,  accompanied  by  a  few 
short  notes  by  way  of  elucidation.  Not  satisfied  with  mere- 
ly printing  it,  I  sent  copies  to  various  persons,  and  amongst 
others  one  to  Prince  Louis  of  Wirtcmberg,  who  had  made 
me  pohte  advances,  and  with  whom  I  was  then  in  correspon- 
dence. The  Prince,  Du  Peyrou,  and  others  seemed  to  have 
their  doubts  about  the  author  of  the  libel,  and  blamed  me 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  XII.       1^65.  38*1 

for  having  named  Yernes  upon  so  slight  a  foundation.  Their 
remarks  raised  some  scruples  within  me,  and  I  wrote  to  Du- 
chesne to  suppress  the  sheet.  Guy  wrote  me  that  he  had  done 
so.  Whether  he  really  did,  I  know  not  :  he  lied  to  me  on 
so  many  occasions,  that  it  would  be  no  great  wonder  if 
he  deceived  me  in  this  instance,  too  ;  and  from  the  time  I  refer 
to,  so  enveloped  have  I  been  amid  profouudest  darkness, 
over  during  and  even  increasing,  that  it  has  been  impossible 
for  me  to  see  aught  with  any  degree  of  clearness. 

M.  Vernes  bore  the  imputation  with  a  moderation  more 
than  astonishing  in  a  man  who  was  supposed  not  to  have  de- 
served it,  and  after  the  fury  he  had  shown  on  former  occa- 
sions. He  wrote  me  two  or  three  letters,  clothed  in  very 
guarded  terms,  with  a  view,  as  it  appeared  to  me,  to  endea- 
vor by  my  answers  to  discover  how  far  I  was  certain  of  his 
being  the  author  of  the  sheet,  and  whether  or  no  I  had  any 
proofs  against  him.  I  wrote  him  two  short  answers,  severe 
in  sense,  but  politely  phrased,  and  at  which  he  took  no 
offence.  To  his  third  letter,  perceiving  he  wished  to  get 
into  a  sort  of  correspondence  with  me,  I  returned  no  answer, 
and  he  got  the  rest  out  of  me  through  d'lvernois.  Madam 
Cramer  wrote  Du  Peyrou,  telling  him  she  was  certain  the 
libel  was  not  by  Vernes.  All  this,  however,  did  not  make 
me  change  my  opinion  ;  but,  as  there  was  a  possibiUty  of  my 
being  deceived — in  which  case  I  owed  Vernes  an  explicit 
reparation — I  sent  him  word  by  d'lvernois  that  I  would  make 
him  such  a  one  as  he  thought  proper,  provided  he  would 
name  me  the  real  author,  or  at  least  prove  that  he  himself 
was  not  so.  I  went  farther  :  feeling  that,  after  all,  were  he 
not  culpable,  I  had  no  right  to  call  on  him  for  proofs  of  any 
kind,  I  stated  in  a  memorial  of  some  considerable  length,  the 
reasons  that  had  led  me  to  my  conclusion,  and  I  determined 
to  submit  them  to  the  judgment  of  an  arbitrator,  to  whom 
Vernes  could  take  no  exception.  You  would  not  divine  the 
arbitrator  I  chose  :  the  Council  of  Geneva,  I  declared  at 
the  end  of  the  memorial  that  if,  after  having  examined  it, 
and  made  such  inquiries  as  should  seem  necessary  (a  matter 
easily  within  theii"  power),  the  Council  pronounced  M.  Yernes 
not  to  be  the  author  of  the  libel,  I  should  from  that  moment  be 
fully  persuaded  that  he  was  not,  and  would  immediately  go 
and  throw  myself  at  his  feet  and  ask  his  pardon  until  I  had 


Rousseau's  confessions,  388 

obtained  it.  I  can  say  with  the  utmost  truth  that  never  did 
my  ardent  zeal  for  equity,  the  uprightness  and  generosity  of 
my  heart  and  my  confidence  in  the  love  of  justice  in- 
born in  every  mind,  manifest  itself  more  fully  or  more  palpa- 
bly than  in  this  wise  and  touching  memorial,  wherein  I 
unhesitatingly  took  my  most  implacable  enemies  for  arbitra- 
tors between  a  calumniator  and  myself.  I  read  Du  Peyrou 
what  I  had  written  :  he  advised  me  to  suppress  it,  and  I  did 
so.  He  counseled  me  to  wait  for  the  proofs  Vernes  promis- 
ed ;  I  did  so,  and  I  am  waiting  stDl.  He  thought  it  best  I 
should  keep  silent  meanwhile  ;  I  held  my  tongue,  and  shall 
do  so  the  rest  of  my  life,  censured  as  I  am  for  having  brought 
a  grave  imputation  against  Vernes,  an  imputation  false  and 
unsupported  by  proof  ;  albeit  I  am  still  persuaded,  nay,  as 
convinced  as  I  am  of  my  own  existence,  that  he  was  the 
author  of  the  libel*  My  memorial  is  in  Du  Peyrou's  hands. 
Should  it  ever  be  published,  my  reasons  wiU  be  found  therein, 
and  the  heart  of  Jean  Jacques,  which  my  cotemporaries 
would  not  know,  will,  I  trust,  come  to  its  own. 

I  have  now  to  proceed  to  the  catastrophe  that  befel  me 
at  Motiers,  and  my  departure  from  Val-de-Travers,  after  a 
residence  of  two  years  and  a  half ;  and  after  having  with  the 
most  unshaken  constancy,  put  up  for  eight  months  with  the 
most  shameful  treatment.  It  is  impossible  for  me  distinctly 
to  recollect  the  details  of  this  disagreeable  period  ;  but  the 
particulars  will  be  found  in  the  account  Du  Peyrou  published 
on  the  matter,  of  which  I  shall  hereafter  have  occasion  to  speak. 

After  the  departure  of  Madam  de  Yerdehn,  the  storm  kept 
brewing  apace,  and,  notwithstanding  the  reiterated  mandates 
of  the  Kmg,  the  frequent  orders  of  the  Council  of  State  and 
the  influence  of  the  ChateUn  and  magistrates  of  the  place, 
the  people,  m  good  earnest  considering  me  as  Antichrist,  and 
perceiving  all  their  clamors  to  be  of  no  effect,  seemed  at 
length  determined  to  proceed  to  violence  ;  stones  were  al- 
ready thrown  after  me  in  the  roads,  though  I  was  still  at 
too  great  a  distance  to  receive  any  harm  from  them.  At 
last,  during  the  night  of  the  Motiers  Fair — early  in  Septem- 
ber— I  was  attacked  in  my  dwelling  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
endanger  the  Uves  of  everybody  in  the  house. 

*  Rousseau  was  mistaken :  Vernes  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
libel :  Voltaire  was  the  authoi"  of  it.     Tr. 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  XII.     1765.  389 

At  midnight,  I  heard  a  great  noise  in  the  gallery  which 
ran  along  the  back  part  of  the  house.     A  shower  of  stones 
thrown  against  the  window  of  the  door  that  opened  on  the 
gallery,  fell  into  it  with  so  much  violence,  that  my  dog,  that 
usually  slept  there,  and  had  begun  to  bark,  ceased  from  fright, 
and  ran  into  a  corner  gnawing  and  scratching  the  plank,  en- 
deavoring to  make  his  escape.     I  immediately  rose,  and  was 
preparing  to  go  from  my  chamber  into  the  kitchen,  when  a 
stone  thrown  by  a  vigorous  arm  crossed  the  latter,  after 
breaking  through  the  window,  forced  open  the  door  of  my 
chamber,  and  fell  at  my  feet,  so  that,  had  I  been  a  moment 
sooner,  I  should  have  got  the  stone  on  the  pit  of  my  stomach, 
I  judged  the  noise  had  been  made  to  bring  me  to  the  door, 
and  the  stone  thrown  to  meet  me  as  I  went  out.     I  ran  into 
the  kitchen,  where  I  found  Therese,  who  also  had  risen,  and 
was  tremblingly  making  her  way  to  me  as  fast  as  she  could. 
We  placed  ourselves  against  a  wall,  out  of  the  direction  ot 
the  window  to  avoid  the  stones,  and  deliberated  upon  what 
was  best  to  be  done  ;  for  to  have  gone  out  to  call  assist- 
ance would  have  been  the  sure  way  of  getting  ourselves 
knocked  on  the  head.     Fortunately  the  maid-servant  of  an 
old  man  who  lodged  under  me  was  waked  by  the  noise,  and 
got  up  and  ran  to  call  the  Chatelain  whose  house  was  next 
to  mine.     He  jumped  from  his  bed,  chipt  on  his  dressing- 
gown  and  instantly  came  to  me  with  the  guard,  which  was 
going  'the  rounds  that  night  and  was  just  at  hand.     The 
Chatelain  was  so  alarmed  at  the  sight  of  the  effects  of  what 
bad  happened  that  he  turned  pale,  and  on  seeing  the  stones 
with  which  the  gallery  was  filled  exclaimed,  *  Good  God  ! 
here  is  a  quarry  !'     On  examining  below  stairs,  the  door  of 
the  little  yard  was  found  to  be  forced  and  there  was  appear- 
ance of  an  attempt  having  been  made  to  get  into  the  house 
by  the  gallery.     On  inquiring  the  reason  why  the  guard 
bad  neither  prevented  nor  perceived  the  disturbance,  it  canic 
out  that  the  Motiers  guards  had  insisted  upon  doing  duty 
that  night,  although  it  was  the  turn  of  those  of  another 
village.     The  next  day  the  Chatelain  sent  a  report  of  the 
proceedings  to  the  Council  of  State,  and  two  days  after- 
wards they  issued  orders  to  inquire  into  the  matter,  promis- 
ing a  reward  and  secrecy  to  those  who  would  impeach  the 


390  Rousseau's  confessions. 

guilty,  and,  meantime,  ordering  guards  to  be  placed  at  the 
kings  expense  about  my  house  and  that  of  the  Chatelain, 
which  joined  it.  The  day  after  the  disturbance,  Colonel 
Pury,  Attorney-General  Meuron,  the  Chatelain  Martinet, 
the  Receiver  Guyenet,  the  Treasurer  d'lvernois,  and  his 
father— in  a  word,  every  person  of  consequence  in  the 
country,  came  to  see  me,  and  united  their  solicitations  to 
persuade  me  to  yield  to  the  storm,  and  leave,  at  least  for  a 
time,  a  place  in  which  I  could  no  longer  live  in  safety  nor 
with  honor.  I  perceived  that  even  the  Chatelain  was 
frightened  at  the  fury  of  the  people,  and,  apprehending  it 
might  extend  to  himself,  would  be  glad  to  see  me  depart 
as  soon  as  possible,  that  he  might  no  longer  have  the  trouble 
of  protecting  me  and  be  able  to  quit  the  parish  himself, 
which  he  did  after  my  departure.  Accordingly  I  yielded 
to  his  solicitations,  and  this  with  but  little  pain  :  for  the 
hatred  of  the  people  so  lascerated  my  heart  that  I  was  no 
longer  able  to  support  it. 

I  had  a  choice  of  places  to  retu-e  to.     After  Madam  de 
Yerdelin  returned  to  Paris,  she  had,  in  several  letters,  men- 
tioned a  Mr.  Walpole,  whom  she  called  '  My  Lord,'  who 
having  a  strong  desire  to  serve  me,  proposed  to  me  an  asy- 
lum on  one  of  his  estates,  touching  the  situation  of  which  she 
gave  me  the  most  agreeable  description  ;  entering  relative 
to  lodging  and  subsistence  into  details  that  showed  how 
minutely  the  said   Lord  Walpole  and   she   had  arranged 
matters.     My  Lord  Marshal  had  always  advised  me  to  go 
to  England  or  Scotland,  and  offered  me  an  asylum  on  his 
estates.     But  he  offered  me  another  at  Potsdam,  near  his 
person,  that  tempted  me  more  than  all  the  rest.     He  had 
just  communicated  to  me  a  proposition  the  king  had  made 
touching  me — a  sort  of  invitation  to  go  and  live  there  ;  and 
the  Duchess  of  Saxe-Gotha  depended  so  much  on  my  coming 
that  she  wrote  me,  desiring  I  would  go  and   see  her  on  my 
way  to  the  court  of  Prussia,  and  stay  some  time  before  pro- 
ceeding any  farther  ;  but  I  was  so  attached  to  Switzerland, 
that  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  quit  it  as  long  as  there  was 
any  possibility  of  my  staying  within  its  bounds,  and  I  seized 
this  opportunity  to  execute  a  project  I  had  formed  several 
months  before,  but  which  I  have  deferred  speaking  of,  that  I 
might  not  interrupt  the  tlu-ead  of  my  narrative. 


PERIOD  II        BOOK  XII.       1765.  391 

This  project  consisted  in  going  and  taking  up  my  residence 
in  the  ile  Saint- Pierre,  in  the  domain  of  the  Hospital  of 
Berne,  in  the  middle  of  the  lake  of  Bienne.  In  a  pedestrian 
pilgrimage  I  had  made  the  year  before  along  with  Du  Pey- 
rou,  we  had  visited  this  isle,  with  which  I  was  so  much  de- 
lighted that  I  had  ever  since  been  thmking  of  how  I  could 
bring  it  about  to  make  it  my  residence.  The  main  obstacle 
arose  from  the  fact  that  the  isle  was  vested  in  the  people 
of  Berne,  who  three  years  before  had  driven  me  from  amongst 
them  ;  and  besides  the  mortification  of  returning  to  live  with 
people  who  had  given  me  so  unfavorable  a  reception,  I  had 
reason  to  fear  they  would  no  more  leave  me  in  peace  on  the 
island,  than  they  had  done  at  Yvcrdun.  I  had  consulted 
my  Lord  Marshal  on  the  matter,  who,  thinking  as  1  did, 
that  the  Bernese  would  be  glad  to  see  me  banished  to  the 
island,  and  keep  me  there  as  a  hostage  for  the  works  I 
might  be  tempted  to  write,  had  sounded  them  as  to  the 
matter  through  M.  Sturler,  his  old  neighbor  at  Colombier. 
M.  Sturler  addressed  himself  to  the  Chiefs  of  the  State, 
and  in  accordance  with  their  answer,  assured  the  Marshal 
that  the  Bernese,  sorry  for  their  past  behavior,  wished  no 
better  than  to  see  me  settled  in  the  isle  Saiut-Pierre,  and 
leave  me  there  at  peace.  As  an  additional  precaution,  be- 
fore I  determined  to  reside  there,  I  desired  Colonel  Chail- 
let  to  make  new  inquiries.  He  confirmed  what  I  had  already 
heard,  and  the  Receiver  of  the  island  having  obtained  per- 
mission from  his  superiors  to  provide  me  with  lodgings,  I 
thought  I  might  without  danger  go  to  his  house,  with  the 
tacit  consent  of  the  sovereign  and  the  proprietors  ;  for  I 
could  not  expect  that  their  Highnesses  of  Berne  would  openly 
acknowledge  the  injustice  they  had  done  me,  and  thus  act 
contrary  to  the  inviolable  maxim  of  all  sovereigns. 

The  ile  Saint-Pierre,  called  at  Neufchatel  the  ile  La 
%  Motte,  in  the  middle  of  the  lake  of  Bienne,  is  about  half  a 
I  league  in  circumference ;  but  wdthin  this  little  space  are  found 
all  the  chief  productions  necessary  to  one's  subsistence.  The 
island  has  fields,  meadows,  orchards,  woods  and  vineyards, 
and  the  whole,  favored  by  the  variegated  and  mountainous 
character  of  the  land,  forms  a  distribution  all  the  more 
agreeable  as  the  parts,  not  disclosing  themselves  all  at  once, 
heighten  each  others'  attractions,  and  make  the-  islet  seem 


392  Rousseau's  confessions. 

larger  thau  it  really  is.  A  very  elevated  terrace*  forms  the 
western  part  of  it,  and  commands  a  view  of  Gleresse  and 
JS'euveville.  This  terrace  is  planted  with  trees,  which  form 
a  long  alley,  intersected  in  the  middle  by  a  large  salon,  where- 
in during  the  vintage,  the  people  fi'om  the  neighboring  shores 
assemble  to  dance  and  make  merry.  There  is  but  one  house 
on  the  whole  island,  but  that  is  very  spacious  and  convenient, 
inhabited  by  the  Receiver,  and  situated  m  a  hollow  that 
shelters  it  from  the  winds. 

Five  or  six  hundred  paces  to  the  south  of  the  isle  Saint- 
Pierre  is  another  islet,  considerably  smaller  than  the  first, 
wild  and  uncultivated,  which  appears  to  have  been  broken 
off  from  the  larger  isles  by  storms.  Its  gravelly  soil  pro- 
duces nothing  but  willows  and  water-cresses,  though  there  is 
a  high  hillock  on  it  covered  with  greensward  that  makes  it 
very  pleasant.  The  form  of  the  lake  is  an  almost  regular 
oval.  The  banks,  though  less  rich  than  those  of  Geneva  and 
Neufchatel,  form  a  beautiful  decoration,  especially  towards 
the  western  part,  which  is  well  peopled,  and  ft'inged  with 
vineyards  at  the  foot  of  a  chain  of  mountains,  something  Uke 
those  of  Cote-Rotie  ;  though  it  does  not  yield  such  excellent 
wme.  In  a  line  from  south  to  north,  to  the  extremity  of  the 
lake,  lie  the  '  Bailiwick'  of  Saint  John,  Neuveville,  Bienne, 
and  Nidau,  the  whole  dotted  over  with  most  agreeable  little 
villages. 

Such  was  the  asylum  I  had  prepared  for  myself,  and  to 
which  I  determined  to  retire  after  quitting  Yal-de-Travers.f 
This  choice  suited  my  pacific  disposition  and  my  lonely  and 
lazy  humor  so  well  that  I  count  it  as  one  of  the  most  deli- 
cious day-dreams  I  ever  indulged.  It  seemed  to  me,  as 
though  I  would,  on  this  island,  be  more  completely  separated 
from  mankind,  safer  from  their  outrages,  and  sooner  forgot- 
ten by  the  world — in  a  word,  more  abandoned  to  the  delight- 

*  It  faces  the  Jura.     Tr. 

t  It  may  not,  perhaps,  be  useless  to  observe  that  I  left  in  the  latter 
place  (Val-de-Travers)  a  private  enemy  in  M.  du  Terraux,  Mayor  oi  Lee 
Vericres,  a  chap  held  in  very  small  esteem  in  the  country,  but  who  has 
brothnr,  that  is  said  to  be  a  worthy  man,  in  the  bureaux  of  Mde.  St. 
P"lurintin.  The  Mayor  had  gone  to  see  him  shortly  before  my  adventure. 
Little  matters  of  this  sort,  though  nothing  in  themselves,  may  yet  ii7 
the  end  eventuate  in  the  disclosure  of  many  an  underground  plot. 


PERIOD  II.     BOOK  XII. 


1765.  393 


fill  pleasures  of  the  inaction  of  a  contemplative  life.  I  could 
have  vrished  to  have  been  confined  in  it  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  have  had  no  intercourse  with  mortals,  and  I  cer* 
tainly  tooli  every  measure  I  could  imagine  to  relieve  me 
from"  the  necessity  of  troubUng  my  head  about  them. 

The  question  was,  how  was  1  to  support  myself  ?  for,  }q-. 
fi-om  the  dearness  of  provisions  and  the  expense  of  trans^/^ 
port,  livmg  is  expensive  on  the  island  ;  the  inhabitants  ara 
besides  at  the  mercy  of  the  Receiver.  This  difficulty  waa 
removed  by  an  arrangement  Du  Peyrou  made  with  me  to 
bring  out  the  edition  of  my  complete  works,  which  the  com 
pany  had  undertaken  and  abandoned.  I  gave  him  all  the 
materials  necessary,  and  arranged  and  distributed  them 
properly.  Along  with  this,  I  agreed  to  give  him  the  Me 
moirs  of  my  life,  and  made  him  the  general  depositary  ol 
all  my  papers,  with  the  express  condition  of  making  no 
use  of  them  till  after  my  death,  having  it  at  heart  quietly 
to  end  my  days  without  doing  anything  to  again  bring 
me  back  to  the  recollection  of  the  pubUc.  Thus  settled, 
the  Kfe-annuity  he  agreed  to  pay  me  was  sufficient  to 
support  me.  My  Lord  Marshal,  havmg  recovered  all  his 
property,  had  offered  me  a  pension  of  twelve  hundred  livres 
a  year,  half  of  which  I  accepted.  He  wished  to  send  me 
the  principal,  but  this  I  refused,  on  account  of  the  difficulty 
of  putting  it  out.  He  then  sent  the  amount  to  Du  Peyrou, 
in  whose  hands  it  remained,  and  who  pays  me  the  annuity 
according  to  the  terms  agreed  upon  with  his  lordship. 
Adding,  therefore,  to  the  amount  of  my  agreement  with 
Du  Peyrou,  the  annuity  of  the  Marshal,  two-thu-ds  of  which 
were  reversible  to  Therese  after  my  death,  and  the  annuity 
of  three  hundred  francs  fi'om  Duchesne,  I  was  assured  of  a 
comfortable  living  for  myself  and  for  Therese  after  me,  to 
whom  I  left  seven  hundred  francs  a  year  from  the  annuities 
paid  me  by  Rey  and  my  Lord  Marshal,  so  that  I  had  no 
lOnger  to  fear  that  she  or  I  would  ever  lack  bread.  It  was 
ordained,  however,  that  honor  should  oblige  me  to  reject  all 
these  resources  fortune  and  my  labors  had  placed  within  my 
reach,  and  that  I  should  die  as  poor  as  I  lived.  It  will  be 
seen  whether  or  not,  without  reducing  myself  to  the  last  degree 
of  infamy,  I  could  have  abides  by  engagements  which  they 
always  took  care  to  render  ignominious,  so  as,  by  depriving 

II.  n* 


394  Rousseau's  confessions. 

me  of  every  other  resource,  to  force  me  to  consent  to  my  own 
dishonor.  How  was  it  possible  anybody  could  doubt  of  the 
course  I  would  pursue  iu  such  an  alternative.  They  have 
ever  judged  my  heart  by  their  own. 

Easy  as  to  my  livelihood,  I  did  not  trouble  myself  about 
anything  else.  Though  I  left  the  field  open  to  my  enemies, 
there  remained  in  the  noble  enthusiasm  that  inspired  my 
writings,  and  in  the  constant  uuiformity  of  my  principles, 
an  evidence  of  the  uprightness  of  my  heart  that  confirmed 
the  witness  my  conduct  bore  of  my  true  nature.  I  had  no 
need  of  any  other  defence  against  my  calumniators.  They 
might  describe  another  man  under  my  name,  but  it  was 
impossible  for  them  to  deceive  any  one  that  did  not  want  to 
be  imposed  upon.  I  could  have  given  them  my  whole  life 
to  animadvert  upon,  with  a  certainty,  notwithstanding  all 
my  faults  and  weaknesses,  and  my  want  of  aptitude  to 
support  the  lightest  yoke,  of  their  finding  in  every  passage 
of  my  life  a  just  and  good  man,  without  bitterness,  hatred, 
or  jealousy,  ready  to  acknowledge  my  errors,  and  still  more 
ready  to  forget  the  injuries  I  received  from  others  ;  seeking 
all  my  happiness  in  love,  friendship,  and  affection,  and  in 
everything  carrying  my  sincerity  even  to  imprudence  and 
the  most  incredible  disinterestedness. 

And  so  I  in  some  measure  took  leave  of  my  times  and 
my  cotemporaries  and  bade  adieu  to  the  world,  with  the  in- 
tention of  confining  myself  for  the  rest  of  my  days  to  my 
lonely  isle.  Sucli  was  my  intent;  and  there  it  was  I  count- 
ed on  carrying  out  my  great  project  of  an  indolent  (oiseuse) 
life,  to  the  realization  of  wliich  I  had  hitherto  bent  all  the 
liMle  energy  wherewith  heaven  had  endowed  me.  This  isle 
was  to  be  for  me  the  island  of  Papimania — that  happy 
country  where  they  sleep — 

On  y  fait  plus,  on  n'y  fait  nulle  chose. 
(Nay,  tliey  do  more,  the)-  do  naught.) 

This  '  more'  (plus)  was  everything  to  me,  for  I  never  cared 
much  about  sleep  ;  loafing  is  enough  for  me  ;  and,  provided 
I  have  nothing  to  do,  I  had  rather  dream  waking  than 
asleep.  Being  beyond  the  age  of  romantic  pi'ojects,  and 
having  been  more  stunned  than  flattered  by  the  trumj^et  of 
fame,  my  only  hope  was  now  to  live  unrestrainedly  and  in 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  XII.       1165.  395 

constant  leisure.  This  is  the  life  oi  the  blessed  in  the  up- 
per spheres,  and  I  made  it  my  supreme  happiness  for  the 
remainder  of  my  existence  here  below. 

They  who  reproach  me  with  so  many  contradictions  will 
not  fail  here  to  add  another  to  the  list.  I  have  observed 
that  the  indolence  of  great  companies  made  them  insup- 
portable to  me,  and  yet  here  I  am  talking  of  seeking  soli- 
tude for  the  purpose  of  abandoning  myself  to  inaction. 
This,  however,  is  my  disposition  ;  if  there  be  any  con- 
tradiction in  it,  it  proceeds  from  nature,  and  not  from  me ;  bat 
there  is  so  little,  that  it  is  precisely  thereby  that  I  am  al- 
ways myself.  The  indolence  of  company  is  burdensome 
because  it  is  forced.  That  of  solitude  is  charming  because 
it  is  free — fancy  free.  In  company  I  suffer  terribly  from 
inaction,  because  I  must  be  inactive.  I  must  sit  stock-still 
glued  to  my  chair,  or  stand  like  a  post,  without  stirring 
hand  or  foot,  not  free  to  run,  jump,  sing,  shout,  or  gesticu- 
late when  I  want  to — not  allowed  even  to  muse — visited  at 
once  with  all  the  fatigue  of  inaction  aud  all  the  torment  of 
constraint — obliged  to  pay  attention  to  every  stupidity 
said  and  every  compliment  paid,  and  compelled  to  keep 
ettrnally,  cudgeling  my  brains  so  as  not  to  fail,  when  my 
turn  comes,  contributing  my  jest  or  my  lie.  And  this  is 
called  idleness  1_  Why,  it  is  a  task  for  a  galley  slave  !* 

The  loafing  I  love  is  not  the  sort  indulged  in  by  a  lazy 
lounger  who  sits  with  his  arms  crossed  in  total  inaction, 
thinking  as  little  as  he  acts.  Mine  is  at  once  that  of  a 
child  in  incessant  but  aimless  movement,  and  that  of  an  old 
codger  that  likes  to  wander  off  in  his  story — 

"  In  endless  mazes  lost." 

I  delight  in  busying  myself  in  the  merest  trifles — beginning 
a  hundred  things  and  never  finishing  one — coming  or  going 
as  the  whim  takes  me — planning  something  new  every  mo- 
ment— following  a  fly  through  its  fickle  and  fantastic  flight 
— tipping  up  a  big  stone  to  see  what's  under  it — rushing 
with  enthusiastic  eagerness  into  a  ten  years'  task,  and 
throwing  it  up  in  ten  minutes — musing  the  live  long  day — 
obeying  every  caprice  of  the  moment,  with  a  behavior  light 
and  lawless  as  snow  flakes. 

•  Good !     Tr. 


396  Rousseau's  confessions. 

Botany,  such  as  I  have  always  considered  it,  and  which 
I  was  beginning  to  be  passionately  fond  of  in  my  own  way, 
was  just  the  thing  I  wanted — a  leisure-study  to  fill  up  all 
my  spare  time  nor  leave  any  room  for  the  morbid  musings 
of  my  imagination  or  the  ennui  of  complete  idleness.  Care- 
lessly wandering  in  the  woods  or  along  the  country-side, 
mechanically  picking  up  a  flower  or  branch,  taking  a  bite 
wherever  chance  offered,  observing  the  same  thing  thousands 
and  thousands  of  times  over,  and  ever  with  the  same  inte- 
rest because  I  ever  forgot  them — had  not  I  employment 
here  for  all  eternity,  without  a  moment's  tedium  ?  How- 
ever elegant,  admirable  and  variegated  the  structure  of 
plants  may  be,  it  does  not  strike  an  ignorant  eye  sufficiently 
to  fix  the  attention.  The  constant  analogy  running  through 
the  prodigious  variety  of  conformation  affords  pleasure 
only  to  those  who  have  already  some  knowledge  of  the 
vegetable  system.  Others  at  the  sight  of  these  treasures 
of  nature  feel  but  a  dull  and  monotonous  admiration. 
They  see  nothing  in  detail,  because  they  know  not  what  to 
look  for,  nor  do  they  perceive  the  whole,  having  no  idea  of 
the  chain  of  connection  and  combination  that  overwhelms 
the  mind  of  the  observer  with  wonder.  I  had  arrived  at 
that  point  of  knowledge — and  my  lack  of  memory  never 
allowed  me  to  go  any  beyond  it — that  I  knew  little  enough 
to  make  the  whole  new  to  me,  and  yet  everything  that  was 
necessary  to  make  me  sensible  of  the  beauties  of  all  the 
parts.  The  different  soils  into  which  the  island — little 
though  it  was — was  divided  offered  a  sufficient  variety  of  plants 
for  my  whole  life-time's  study  and  amusement.  I  determined 
not  to  leave  a  blade  of  grass  unanalysed,  and  I  already 
Ijegan  getting  together  an  immense  collection  of  observa- 
tions for  the  purpose  of  putting  together  a  Flora  Pelrin 
sularis.^ 

I  sent  for  Therese,  who  brought  along  my  books  and 
effects.  We  took  board  with  the  Receiver  of  the  island. 
Ilis  wife  had  three  sisters  at  Nidau,  who  came  to  see  her, 
turn  about,  and  who  were  company  for  Therese.  I  here 
made  the  experiment  of  the  agreeable  life  which  I  could 
have  wished  to  continue  to  the  end  of  my  days,  and  the 
pleasure  I  found  in   it  only  served  to  make  me  feel  to  a 

•  Flower-system  of  the  lie  Saint  Pierre.     Tr. 


PERIOD  II.    BOOK  XII.      1165.  397 

greater  degree  the  bitterness  of  that  by  which  it  was  short- 
ly to  be  succeeded. 

/I  have  ever  been  passionately  fond  of  water,  and  the 
sight  of  it  throws  me  into  a  delightful  reverie,  although 
frequently  without  a  determined  object.  Immediately  after 
I  rose  from  my  bed,  I  never  failed,  if  the  weather  was  fine, 
running  to  the  terrace  and  breathing  the  pure  fresh  morn- 
ing air,  and  skimming  my  eye  along  the  horizon  of  the 
lake,  bounded  by  banks  and  mountains  that  enchanted  my 
eyes.  I  know  of  no  homage  more  worthy  the  Divinity 
than  the  silent  admiration  excited  by  the  contemplation  of 
his  works — an  admiration  that  finds  no  outward  manifesta- 
tion. I  can  easily  comprehend  the  reason  why  the  inhabi- 
tants of  great  cities,  who  see  nothing  but  walls,  streets  and 
crimes,  have  but  little  faith  ;  but  not  whence  it  happens 
that  people  in  the  country,  and  especially  such  as  live  in 
solitude,  can  possibly  be  without  it.  How  comes  it  to  pass 
these  do  not  a  hundred  times  a  day  raise  their  minds  in 
ecstacy  to  the  author  of  the  wonders  that  meet  their  gaze  ? 
For  my  own  part,  it  is  especially  at  rising,  when  wearied  by 
want  of  sleep,  that  long  habit  inclines  me  to  this  elevation, 
which  imposes  not  the  fatigue  of  thinking.  But  to  this 
effect,  my  eyes  must  be  struck  with  the  ravishing  beauties  of 
nature.  In  my  room  I  pray  less  frequently,  and  not  so 
fervently  ;  but  at  the  view  of  a  fine  landscape  I  feel  my- 
self moved — by  what  I  am  unable  to  tell.  I  have  some- 
where read  of  a  wise  bishop,  who,  in  a  visit  to  his  diocese, 
found  an  old  woman  whose  sole  prayer  consisted  in  the 
ejaculation  '01''  Good  Mother,'  said  he  to  her,  '  pray  al- 
ways so  ;  your  prayer  is  better  than  ours.'  This  '  better' 
prayer  is  mine,  too. 

After  breakfast,  I  hastened  sulkily  enough  to  hurry 
through  a  few  pitiful  letters,  ardently  longing  for  the  happy 
moment  when  I  would  have  no  more  to  write.  I  busied 
myself  for  a  few  minutes  about  my  books  and  papers,  un- 
packing or  arranging,  rather  than  reading  them  ;  and 
this  arranging,  which  became  a  Penelope's  task  for  me, 
gave  me  the  pleasure  of  musing  for  a  while.  I  then  grew 
weary  and  threw  aside  my  books  to  spend  the  three  or  four 
hours  that  remained  to  me  of  the  morning  in  the  study  of 

Botany,  and  especially  the  Linnaean  system,  of  which  I  be- 


398  Rousseau's  confessions. 

came  so  passionately  fond  that,  after  having  felt  how  use- 
less my  attachment  to  it  was,  I  could  not  entirely  shake  it 
off.  This  great  observer  is  in  my  opinion,  the  only  person, 
with  the  exception  of  Ludwig,  that  has  hitherto  consider- 
ed Botany  as  a  Naturalist  and  a  Philosopher  ;  but  he  has 
studied  too  much  out  of  herbals  and  gardens  and  not 
enough  in  nature  herself.  For  me,  whose  garden  was  al- 
ways the  whole  island,  the  moment  I  wanted  to  make  or 
verify  an  observation,  I  ran  into  the  woods  or  meadows 
with  my  book  under  my  arm,  and  stretched  myself  down 
ou  the  ground  near  the  plant  to  examine  and  study  it  at 
my  ease  as  it  grew.  This  method  was  of  great  service  to 
me  in  gaining  a  knowledge  of  vegetables  in  their  natural 
state,  before  they  had  been  cultivated  and  changed  in  their 
nature  by  the  hand  of  man.  Fagan,  First  Physician  to  Louis 
XIV,  who  was  perfectly  familiar  with,  and  made  a  nomencla- 
ture of  all  the  plants  in  the  royal  garden,  is  said  to  have  been 
so  ignorant  in  the  country  as  not  to  have  known  how  to  tell 
the  same  plant.  With  me  it  is  precisely  the  opposite:  I  kuow 
something  of  nature's  work  but  nothiug  of  the  gardener's. 

As  to  the  afternoons,  I  devoted  them  wholly  to  my 
loafing,  nonchalant  humor,  lawlessly  following  the  impulse  of 
the  moment.  When  the  weather  was  calm,  I  often  went  right 
after  dinner  and  took  a  sail  alone  out  in  the  boat.  The 
Receiver  had  taught  me  to  row  with  one  oar.  I  would  row  out 
into  the  middle  of  the  lake.  The  moment  I  got  clear  of  the 
bank,  a  sudden  joy  would  thrill  me,  making  me  almost  leap 
from  my  seat.  The  cause  of  this  I  am  not  skilled  either  to  know 
or  tell,  unless  it  came  from  a  secret  congratulation  on  being 
out  of  the  reach  of  the  wicked.  Then  I  would  row  about  the 
lake,  approaching  at  times  the  opposite  bank,  but  never 
touching  it.  I  often  let  my  boat  float  at  the  mercy  of 
wind  and  wave,  abandoning  myself  to  aimless  reveries,  none 
the  less  agreeable  from  their  silliness.  Anon  with  plaintive 
ecstacy  I  would  exclaim,  '  0  Nature  !  O  my  Mother  !  here 
I  am  under  no  eye  but  thine  ;  there  is  no  deceitfnl,  villainous 
mankind  here  to  come  'twixt  thee  and  me.'  In  this  manner  I 
withdrew  half  a  league  from  land  ;  I  could  have  wished  the 
lake  had  been  an  ocean.  However,  to  please  my  poor  dog, 
who  was  not  so  fond  as  myself  of  such  a  long  stay  on  the 
water,  I  commonly  pursued  a  regular  course  :  I  landed  at 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  XII.       1165.  399 

the  little  islet,  where  I  walked  an  hour  or  two,  or  laid  me 
down  ou  the  grass  on  the  top  of  the  hill,  there  to  sati- 
ate myself  with  the  pleasure  of  admiring  the  lake  and  its 
environs,  examining  and  dissecting  all  the  plants  within  my 
reach,  and,  like  another  Robinson  Crusoe,  building  myself 
an  imaginary  residence  on  the  island.  I  became  very  much 
attached  to  this  eminence.  When  I  brought  Therese  with 
the  Receiver's  wife  and  her  sisters  to  walk  there,  how  proud 
was  I  to  be  their  pilot  and  guide!  We  took  rabbits  with 
us  to  stock  the  little  islet  :  another  festival  for  Jean 
Jacques  !  These  animals  rendered  the  place  still  more 
interesting  to  me.  I  afterwards  went  to  it  more  frequently, 
and  with  greater  pleasure,  to  observe  the  progress  of  the 
new  inhabitants. 

To  these  amusements  I  added  one  which  recalled  the 
delightful  life  I  led  at  Les  Charmettes,  and  to  which  the 
season  particularly  invited  me.  This  was  assisting  in  the 
rustic  labors  of  gathering  roots  and  fruits,  and  which 
Therese  and  I  made  it  a  pleasure  to  share  with  the  wife 
and  family  of  the  Receiver.  I  remember  that  a  Bernese, 
one  Kirkebergher,  having  come  to  see  me,  found  me  perched 
on  a  huge  tree  with  a  sack  fastened  around  my  waist,  and 
already  so  full  of  apples  that  I  could  not  stir  from  the 
branch  on  which  I  stood.  I  was  not  sorry  to  be  caught  in 
this  and  the  like  ways.  I  hoped  that  the  people  of  Berne, 
seeing  how  I  employed  my  leisure,  would  no  longer  think  of 
disturbing  my  tranquility,  but  would  leave  me  to  enjoy  my 
solitude  in  peace.  I  should  have  preferred  being  confined 
there  by  their  desire  :  this  would  have  rendered  the  con- 
tinuation of  my  repose  more  certain. 

Here  comes  another  avowal  touching  which  I  am  sure,  to 
begiu  with,  of  incredulity  on  the  part  of  readers  who  are 
obstinately  bent  on  judging  me  by  themselves,  notwith- 
standing that  they  cannot  but  have  seen  in  the  course  of 
my  life  a  thousand  '  motions  of  my  spirit '  that  bear  no  re- 
semblance to  theirs.  But  what  is  still  more  extraordinary 
is  that  people  deny  me  every  sentiment,  good,  bad  or  in- 
different, which  they  have  not,  and  are  constantly  ready  to 
attribute  to  me  such  bad  ones  as  cannot  enter  the  heart  of 
man  :  in  this  case  they  find  it  easy  to  set  me  in  opposition 
to  nature  and  to  make  me  out  such  a  monster  as  could  not 


400  Rousseau's  confessions. 

possibly  exist.  No  absurdity  appears  to  them  incredible 
the  moment  it  has  any  power  to  blacken  me,  and  nothing 
in  the  least  extraordinary  seems  to  them  possible  if  it  tends 
to  do  me  honor. 

But,  spite  of  what  they  may  think  or  say,  I  shall  still 
continue  faithfully  to  state  what  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau 
was,  did  and  thought,  making  no  attempt  to  explain  or 
justify  the  singularity  of  his  sentiments  and  ideas,  or 
endeavoring  to  discover  whether  or  not  others  have  thought 
as  he  did.  I  became  so  delighted  with  theile  Saint-Pierre, 
and  my  residence  there  was  so  agreeable  to  me  that,  by 
concentrating  all  my  desires  within  it,  I  formed  the  wish 
that  I  might  stay  there  to  the  end  of  my  life.  The  visits 
I  had  to  return  in  the  neighborhood,  the  journeys  I  should 
be  under  the  necessity  of  making  to  Xeufchatel,  Bienne, 
Yverdun,  and  Nidau  already  fatigued  my  imagination.  A 
day  passed  out  of  the  island  appeared  to  me  so  much 
happiness  lost,  and  to  go  beyond  the  bounds  of  the  lake 
was  to  go  out  of  my  element.  Past  experience  had 
besides  rendered  me  apprehensive.  The  mere  satisfaction 
I  received  from  anything  whatever  was  enough  to  make 
me  fear  its  loss,  and  the  ardent  desire  I  had  to  end  my 
days  on  the  isle,  was  inseparable  from  the  apprehension  of 
being  obliged  to  leave  it.  I  had  contracted  a  habit  of 
going  in  the  evening  and  sitting  upon  the  sandy  shore, 
especially  when  the  lake  was  agitated.  I  felt  a  singular 
pleasure  in  seeing  the  waves  break  at  my  feet.  They  be- 
came in  my  mind  an  emblem  of  the  tumult  of  the  world 
contrasted  with  my  peaceful  home,  and  this  sweet  idea 
sometimes  melted  me  even  to  tears.  The  repose  I  enjoyed 
with  ecstacy,  was  disturbed  by  nothing  but  the  dread  of 
being  deprived  of  it ;  but  this  disquietude  was  accompanied 
by  some  bitterness.  I  felt  that  ray  situation  was  so  pre- 
carious that  I  dared  not  depend  upon  its  continuance. 
'  Ah  !  how  willingly,'  said  I  to  myself,  '  would  I  renounce 
the  liberty  of  quitting  this  place  (a  liberty  I  do  not  desire) 
for  the  assurance  of  always  I'cmaining  in  it.  Instead  of 
being  permitted  to  stay  here  as  a  favor,  why  am  I  not  de- 
tained by  force  ?  They  who  suffer  me  to  remain  may  any 
moment  drive  me  away,  and  can  I  hope  ray  persecutors, 
seeing  me  happy,  will  leave  me  here,  to  continue  to  be  so  ? 


PERIOD  11.       BOOK  XII.       1765.  401 

Permitting  me  to  live  on  the  isle  is  but  a  trifling  favor  :  I 
could  wish  to  be  condemned  to  do  it,  and  constrained  to 
remain  here  that  I  may  not  be  obliged  to  go  elsewhere. 
I  cast  an  envious  eye  on  happy  Mieheli  Du  Cret,  who, 
quiet  in  the  Chateau  d'Arberg,  had  only  to  determine  to 
be  happy  to  be  so.  In  fine,  by  abandoning  myself  to  these 
reflections  and  the  alarming  apprehensions  of  new  storms 
ever  ready  to  break  over  my  head,  I  came  with  incredible 
ardor,  to  desire  that  instead  of  merely  suffermg  me  to  re- 
side on  the  island,  the  Bernese  would  give  it  me  for  a  per- 
petual prison;  and  I  can  assert  that,  had  it  depended  upon 
myself  to  get  condemned  to  this,  I  would  most  joyfully 
have  done  it,  preferring  a  thousand  times  the  necessity  of 
passing  my  life  there  to  the  danger  of  being  driven  to 
another  place. 

This  fear  was  ere  long  dreadfully  confirmed.  When  I 
least  expected  what  was  to  happen,  I  received  a  letter  from 
the  Bailifi"  of  Nidau,  within  whose  jurisdiction  was  the  ile 
Saint-Pierre  :  in  this  letter  he  sent  me  an  order  from  their 
Excellencies  to  quit  the  ile  Saint-Pierre  and  their  States. 
I  thought  myself  in  a  dream.  Nothing  could  be  less 
natural,  rational  or  expected  than  such  an  order  :  for  I 
had  considered  my  apprehensions  rather  as  the  forebodings 
of  a  brain  made  morbid  through  misfortune  than  as  a  true 
prevision  grounded  on  a  sane  foundation.  The  measures  I 
had  taken  to  insure  myself  the  tacit  consent  of  the  sover- 
eign, the  tranquillity  with  which  I  had  been  left  to  settle 
down,  the  visits  of  several  Bernese,  and  that  of  the 
'Bailiff'  himself,  who  had  loaded  me  with  kindness  and 
attention,  and  the  rigor  of  the  season  (when  it  was  barba- 
rous to  expel  a  man  that  was  sickly  and  infirm)  all  these 
circumstances  made  me  and  many  people  believe  there  was 
some  mistake  in  the  order,  and  that  certain  ill-disposed 
people  had  purposely  chosen  the  vintage-time  and  the 
vacation  of  the  Senate  to  aim  this  hasty  blow  at  me. 

Had  I  yielded  to  the  first  impulse  of  indignation,  I 
should  immediately  have  departed.  But  where  was  I  to 
go  ?  What  was  to  become  of  me  at  the  beginning  of  the 
winter,  without  place  in  view,  without  preparation,  guide  or 
carriage  ?  Not  to  leave  my  papers  and  effects  to  go  to 
complete  wreck,  time  was  necessary  to  arrange  matters, 


402  Rousseau's  confessions. 

and  it  was  not  stated  in  the  order  whether  or  not  this 
would  be  granted  me.  The  contuiuanee  of  misfortune  was 
beginning  fro  weigh  down  my  courage.  For  the  first  time 
in  my  life,  I  felt  my  inborn  and  untamed  haughtiness  stoop 
to  the  yoke  of  necessity,  and  notwithstanding  the  murmurs 
of  my  heart,  I  was  obliged  to  demean  myself  by  asking  for 
a  delay.  I  applied  to  M.  de  Graffenried,  who  had  sent  me 
the  order,  for  an  explanation  of  it.  His  reply,  couched  in 
the  strongest  terms  of  disapprobation  of  the  steps  that  had 
been  taken,  assured  me  that  it  was  with  the  utmost  regret 
he  communicated  to  me  the  nature  of  it ;  and  the  expres- 
sions of  grief  and  esteem  it  contained  seemed  so  many  gentle 
invitations  to  open  my  heart  to  him.  I  did  so.  I  had  no 
doubt  but  my  letter  would  open  the  eyes  of  those  iniquitous 
men  to  their  barbarity,  and  that  if  so  unjust  a  sentence  was 
not  evoked,  a  reasonable  delay  at  least,  perhaps  the  whole  win- 
ter, would  be  granted  me  to  make  the  necessary  preparations 
for  my  retreat,  and  to  choose  a  place  of  abode. 

While  waiting  an  answer,  I  set  to  reflecting  on  my  situ- 
ation, and  deliberating  on  the  steps  I  had  to  take.  I  saw 
myself  so  begirt  with  difficulties,  grief  had  taken  such  hold 
on  me,  and  my  health  was  at  the  time  so  poor,  that  I  was 
quite  overcome,  and  the  effect  of  this  discouragement  was  to 
deprive  me  of  any  little  spirit  I  might  have  had  to  make  the 
best  of  my  sad  situation.  In  what  asylum  soever  I  might 
take  refuge,  it  was  evident  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  me 
to  escape  one  or  the  other  of  the  two  means  made  use  of  to  ex- 
pel me:  One  was  to  stir  up  the  populace  by  secret  manoeuvres; 
the  other  to  drive  me  away  by  open  force,  without  giving 
any  reason  for  so  doing.  I  could  not,  therefore,  depend  upon 
a  safe  retreat,  unless  I  went  in  search  of  it  farther  than  my 
strength  and  the  season  seemed  likely  to  permit.  These 
circumstances  again  bringing  to  my  recollection  the  ideas 
which  had  lately  occurred  to  me,  I  desired,  and  ventured  to 
propose  that  they  would  condemn  me  to  perpetual  imprison- 
ment rather  than  ol)lige  me  incessantly  to  wander  over  the 
face  of  the  earth,  by  successively  expelling  me  from  every 
asylum  I  chose.  Two  days  after  my  lirst  letter  to  M.  de 
Gralfenried,  I  wrote  him  a  second,  desiring  he  would  com- 
municate the  proposition  to  their  Excellencies.  The  answer 
of  the  Powers  of  Berne  to  both  was  an  order,  couched  in 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  XII.       1*165.  403 

the  most  formal  and  severe  terms,  to  quit  the  island  and 
leave  every  territory,  mediate  and  immediate  of  the  Republic, 
within  the  space  of  twenty-four  hours,  and  never  enter  them 
again  under  severest  penalties. 

'  Twas  an  awful  moment.  I  have  smce  then  felt  greater 
anguish,  but  never  was  I  more  terribly  embarrassed.  What 
afflicted  me  most  was  being  forced  to  abandon  the  project 
that  had  made  me  so  deshous  of  passing  the  winter  on  the 
island.  It  is  now  time  I  should  relate  the  fatal  anecdote 
that  completed  my  disasters,  and  involved  m  my  ruin  an  un- 
fortunate people  whose  rising  virtues  already  gave  promise 
of  its  one  day  equaling  those  of  Rome  or  Sparta.  I  had 
spoken  of  the  Corsicans  in  the  '  Social  Contract'*  as  a  new 
people,  the  only  nation  in  Europe  not  too  worn  out  for  legis- 
lation, and  expressed  the  great  hope  there  was  of  such  a 
people,  if  fortunate  enough  to  have  a  wise  legislator.  My 
work  was  read  by  some  of  the  Corsicans,  who  were  touched 
at  the  honorable  manner  I  had  spoken  of  them  ;  and  the 
necessity  under  which  they  found  themselves  of  endeavoring 
to  estabhsh  their  Republic  made  theh  chiefs  think  of  asking 
me  for  my  ideas  on  the  subject.  M.  Buttafuoca,  captain  in 
the  '  Royal  Italians'  in  France,  and  of  one  of  the  first  fami- 
lies on  the  island,  wrote  to  me  to  that  efiTect,  and  sent  me 
several  papers  I  had  asked  of  him,  to  make  myself  acquaint- 
ed with  the  history  of  the  people  and  the  state  of  the  coun- 
try. M.  Paoli  also  wrote  me  several  times  ;  and  though  I 
felt  such  an  undertaking  above  my  reach,  I  thought  I  could 
not  refuse  my  assistance  in  so  great  and  beautiful  a  work, 
when  I  should  have  acquired  the  necessary  information.  It 
was  to  this  effect  I  answered  both  these  gentlemen,  and  the 
correspondence  was  kept  up  untU  my  departure. 

Precisely  at  the  same  tune,  I  learned  that  France  was 
sending  troops  to  Corsica,  and  that  she  had  concluded  a 
treaty  with  the  Genoese.  This  treaty,  this  envoi  of  troops 
made  me  quite  uneasy  ;  and,  without  as  yet  imagining  / 
was  concerned  at  all  in  the  matter,  I  judged  it  absurd  and 
out  of  the  question  to  busy  myself  at  a  work  that  re- 
quires such  undisturbed  tranquillity  as  the  fcirmation  of  the 
institutions  of  a  people,  at  a  moment  when  they  were  per- 

•  Book  II.  Chapter  X.     Tr. 


404  BotrssEAu's  confessions. 

haps  on  the  point  of  being  subjugated.  I  did  not  conceal 
my  uneasiness  from  M.  Buttafuoca,  who  relieved  my  mind 
by  the  assurance  that,  were  there  aught  in  the  treaty  con- 
trary to  the  hberties  of  his  country,  so  good  a  citizen  as  him- 
self would  not  remain,  as  he  did,  in  the  service  of  France. 
And  indeed,  his  zeal  for  the  legislation  of  the  Corsicans,  and 
his  connection  with  M.  Paoli  could  leave  no  doubt  in  my 
mind  resjDecting  him  ;  and  when  I  understood  that  he  made 
frequent  journeys  to  Yersailles  and  Fontainebleu,  and  was 
connected  with  M.  de  Choiseul,  all  I  concluded  was  that  he 
had  assurances  respecting  the  real  intentions  of  France, 
which  he  gave  me  to  understand,  but  concerning  which  he 
did  not  choose  openly  to  explain  himself  by  letter. 

All  this  reassured  me  in  a  measure.  And  yet,  as  I  could 
not  understand  this  envoi  of  French  troops — unable  ration- 
ally to  suppose  that  they  were  sent  for  the  protection  of  the 
hberty  of  the  Corsicans,  as  that  they  were  very  able  to  de- 
fend themselves  against  the  Genoese — I  could  not  make  my- 
self perfectly  easy,  nor  yet  seriously  go  into  the  proposed 
legislation,  until  solid  proofs  were  forthcoming  that  the  whole 
affair  was  not  a  piece  of  tomfoolery  got  up  to  *  sell'  me.  I 
much  wished  for  an  interview  with  M.  Buttafuoco,  as  that 
was  certainly  the  best  means  of  coming  at  the  desired  ex- 
planation. Of  this  he  gave  me  hopes,  and  I  awaited  hira 
with  the  utmost  impatience.  For  his  part,  whether  he  really 
intended  coming  or  no,  I  know  not  ;  but  even  had  he,  my 
disasters  would  have  prevented  me  from  profiting  by  it. 

The  more  I  considered  the  proposed  undertaking,  the 
farther  I  advanced  in  the  examination  of  the  papers  I  had 
in  my  hands,  the  greater  I  found  the  necessity  of  studying 
the  people  for  whom  the  institutions  were  intended  on  the 
spot — the  soil  they  inhabited,  and  all  the  relative  circumstan- 
ces necessary  to  be  taken  into  consideration  so  as  to  appro- 
priate the  system  to  them.  I  daily  perceived  more  clearly 
the  impossibility  of  acquiring  at  a  distance  all  the  information 
necessary  to  guide  me.  This  I  wrote  to  M.  Buttafuoca,  and 
he  felt  as  I  did.  Although  I  did  not  exactly  resolve  to  go 
to  Corsica,  I  thought  a  good  deal  of  the  means  of  making 
this  journey.  I  mentioned  it  to  M.  Dastier,  who  having  for- 
merly served  in  the  island  under  M.  Maillebois,  was  necessa- 
rily acquainted  with  it.    He  used  every  effort  to  dissuade  mo 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  XII.      1165.  405 

from  this  design,  and  I  confess  the  frightful  description  he 
gave  me  of  the  Corsicans  and  then-  country  considerably 
abated  the  desire  I  had  felt  to  go  and  live  amongst  them. 

But,  when  the  persecutions  at  Motiers  made  me  think  of 
quitting  Switzerland,  this  desire  was  again  strengthened  by 
the  hope  of  at  length  finding  among  these  islanders  the  re- 
pose refused  me  everywhere  else.  One  thing  alone  alarmed 
me  :  my  unfitness  and  aversion  for  the  active  Ufe  to  which  I 
was  gomg  to  be  condemned.  My  disposition,  admirably  fit- 
ted for  leisurely  meditation,  was  not  in  the  least  suited  for 
speaking  and  acting  and  treatmg  of  affairs  with  men.  jSTa- 
ture,  endowing  me  with  the  first  talent,  had  denied  me  the 
other.  Yet  I  felt  that  without  taking  a  direct  or  active  part 
in  public  afifau's,  I  should  as  soon  as  I  was  in  Corsica  be  un- 
der the  necessity  of  yielding  to  the  desu'es  of  the  people,  and 
of  frequently  conferring  with  the  chiefs.  The  very  object  of 
the  jom-ney  reqmred  that,  m  place  of  seekmg  retb-ement,  I 
should  endeavor  to  obtain  the  information  necessary  for  the 
execution  of  my  plan  in  daily  converse  with  the  people.  It 
was  certain  I  shodd  no  longer  be  master  of  my  own  tune,  and 
that,  drawn  spite  of  myself  into  whirlwinds  amid  which  I  was 
not  made  to  Uve,  I  should  lead  a  life  contrary  to  my  inclma- 
tion,  and  never  appear  but  to  disadvantage.  I  foresaw  that,  ill 
supporting  by  my  presence  the  opinion  my  books  might  have 
given  of  my  capacity,  I  should  lose  my  reputation  amongst 
them,  and,  as  much  to  their  own  prejudice  as  my  own,  be  de- 
prived of  the  confidence  they  had  in  me,  without  which  I 
could  not  successfully  execute  the  task  they  expected  of  me. 
I  was  certain  that,  by  thus  going  out  of  my  sphere,  I  should 
become  useless  to  them,  and  render  myself  unhappy. 

Tormented,  beaten  by  storms  of  every  kind,  tired  out  by  sev- 
eral years  journeyings  and  persecutions,  I  deeply  felt  the  need 
of  the  repose  my  enemies  wantonly  gloated  in  depriving  me  of, 
I  sighed  more  than  ever  over  that  delightful  indolence,  that 
soft  quietude  of  body  and  mmd,  that  I  had  so  longed  after, 
and  to  which  my  heart  had  confined  its  supreme  felicity  after 
its  recovery  from  the  dreams  of  love  and  friendship.  I 
viewed  the  work  I  was  about  to  begiu  with  terror  ;  the  tu- 
multuous life  I  was  going  to  enter  on  made  me  tremble ;  and 
if  the  grandeur,  beauty,  and  utility  of  the  object  animated 
my  com'age,  the  impossibility  of  conquering  so  many  diflficul- 


406  Rousseau's  confessions. 

ties  entirely  deprived  me  of  it.  Tvrentj  years'  profound 
meditation  in  solitude  would  have  been  less  trying  to  me  than 
an  active  life  of  six  months  in  the  midst  of  men  and  public  af- 
fairs, with  the  certainty  of  not  succeeding  in  my  undertaking. 

I  thought  of  an  expedient  that  seemed  calculated  to 
remove  every  obstacle.  Hunted  and  hounded  from  my  every 
refuge  by  the  under-ground  plots  of  my  secret  persecutors, 
and  seeing  no  place  except  Corsica  where  I  could  in  my  old 
days  hope  for  the  repose  I  had  hitherto  been  everywhere  de- 
prived of,  I  resolved  to  go  there  under  the  directions  of  M. 
Buttafuoco,  as  soon  as  this  was  possible  ;  but  to  live  there 
in  tranquillity — renouncing,  at  least  in  appearance,  everything 
relative  to  legislation,  and  so  as  in  some  measure  to  make  my 
hosts  a  return  for  their  hospitality,  confining  myself  to  writ- 
ing in  the  country  the  history  of  the  Corsicans,  meanwhile 
noiselessly  acquiring  information  that  would  enable  me  to 
make  myself  more  useful  to  them,  should  an  opening  present 
itself  In  this  manner,  by  not  entering  into  any  engagement, 
I  hoped  to  be  enabled  better  to  meditate,  in  secret,  and 
more  at  my  ea,«e,  a  plan  which  might  be  useful  to  their  pur- 
pose, and  this  without  much  breaking  in  upon  my  dearly 
beloved  solitude,  or  submitting  to  a  kind  of  life  I  had  ever 
found  insupportable. 

But  the  journey  was  not,  in  my  situation,  a  thing  so  easy 
to  get  over.  According  to  what  M.  Dastier  had  told  me  of 
Corsica,  I  could  not  expect  to  find  the  simplest  conveniences 
of  life,  except  such  as  I  should  take  with  me  :  linen,  clothes, 
dishes,  kitchen  utensils,  papers,  books — all  had  to  be  taken 
with  me.  To  get  there  myself  with  my  '  Gouvernante,'  I 
had  the  Alps  to  cross,  and  all  my  luggage  to  drag  after  me 
on  a  journey  of  two  hundred  leagues.  Then  I  had  to  pass 
through  the  states  of  several  sovereigns  ;  and,  according  to 
the  example  set  by  all  Europe,  I  had  naturally  to  expect,  af- 
ter what  had  befallen  me,  to  find  obstacles  in  every  quarter, 
and  that  each  Power  would  think  it  did  itself  honor  by 
overwhelming  me  with  some  new  insult,  and  violating  all  the 
rights  of  Nature  and  Nations  in  my  person.  The  immense 
expense,  fatigue,  and  risk  of  such  a  journey  necessitated  care- 
ful forethought  on  my  part  and  due  weighing  of  all  the  dif- 
ficulty. The  idea  of  being  alone  at  my  age  and  without 
means,  far  removed  from  all  my  acquaintances,  and  at  the 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK  XII.       1765.  401 

mercy  of  that  barbarous  and  ferocious  people,  such  as  M 
Dastier  had  described  them  to  me,  was  enough  to  make  me 
pause  before  rushing  into  any  such  project.  I  ardently 
wished  for  the  interview  M.  Buttafuoca  had  given  me  reason 
to  hope  for,  and  I  was  waiting  the  result  of  it  to  guide  me 
in  my  determination. 

While  thus  balancing,  came  on  the  persecutions  at  Motiers, 
obhging  me  to  beat  a  retreat.  I  was  not  prepared  for  a 
long  journey,  and  especially  not  prepared  for  a  joui'ney  to 
Corsica.  I  expected  to  hear  from  Buttafuoco  ;  I  took  re- 
fuge in  the  ile  Saint-Pierre,  whence  I  was  driven  at  the 
begmning  of  winter,  as  already  stated.  The  Alps,  covered 
with  snow,  render  my  emigration  just  then  impracticable,  es- 
pecially with  the  precipitation  prescribed  me.  True,  the 
extravagant  severity  of  a  like  order  rendered  the  execution  of 
it  next  to  impossible  ;  for  in  the  midst  of  my  sohtude,  shut 
up  npon  all  sides  by  water,  and  having  but  twenty-four  hours 
after  receiving  the  order  to  prepare  for  my  departure,  and 
find  a  boat  and  carriages  to  get  out  of  the  island  and  the  ter- 
ritory,— had  I  had  wings,  I  could  scarce  have  been  able  to 
obey  it.  This  I  wrote  to  the  Bailiff  of  jS^idau,  in  answer  to  his 
letter,  meanwhile  making  all  haste  to  get  out  of  that  iniquit- 
ous country.  Thus  was  I  forced  to  abandon  my  cherished 
project  ;  and,  not  having  in  my  oppression  been  able  to  pre- 
vail upon  my  persecutors  to  dispose  of  me,  I  determined,  in 
consequence  of  the  invitation  of  my  Lord  Marshal,  upon  a 
journey  to  BerUn,  leaving  Therese  to  pass  the  winter  in  the 
ile  Saint-Pierre,  with  my  books  and  effects,  and  depositing  my 
papers  in  the  hands  of  Du  Peyi'ou.  I  used  so  much  diligence 
that  the  next  morning  I  left  the  island,  and  arrived  at  Bi- 
enne  before  noon.  An  incident,  which  I  cannot  pass  over  in 
silence,  had  here  like  to  have  put  an  end  to  my  journey. 

As  soon  as  the  news  of  my  having  received  orders  to 
quit  the  island  had  got  abroad,  I  was  overwhelmed  with  a  per- 
fect deluge  of  visitors  from  the  neighborhood,  and  especially 
Bernese,  who  came  with  the  most  detestable  double-facedness 
to  flatter  and  sooth  me,  protesting  that  my  enemies  had  seiz- 
ed the  moment  of  the  vacation  of  the  senate  to  obtain  and 
send  me  the  order,  at  which,  said  they,  the  whole  '  Two 
Hundred'  is  indignant.  Among  the  crowd  of  comforters, 
came  certain  ones  from  the  city  of  Bienne,  a  small  free  state, 


408  Rousseau's  confessions. 

lying  within  the  domain  of  Berne,  and,  among  others,  a 
young  man  named  Wildremet,  whose  family  held  the  chief 
rank  and  had  the  most  influence  in  the  little  town.  Wildremet 
pressed  me  so  warmly,  in  the  name  of  his  fellow-citizens,  to 
take  up  my  abode  among  them,  assuring  me  that  they  were 
extremely  desirous  for  me  to  do  so;  that  they  would  consider 
it  a  glory  and  a  duty  to  make  me  forget  the  persecutions  I 
had  suffered  ;  that  I  would  have  no  Bernish  influence  to 
fear  among  ihem  ;  that  Bienne  was  a  free  city,  governed  by 
its  own  laws,  and  that  the  citizens  were  unanimously 
determined  not  to  hearken  to  any  instigation  unfavorable 
to  me. 

Wildrement,  seeing  he  could  not  move  me,  brought  to 
his  aid  several  other  persons,  as  well  from  Bienne  and  its 
environs  as  also  from  Bienne  itself,  and,  among  others,  that 
same  Kirkebergher  I  referred  to,  who  had  sought  my  ac- 
quaintance since  my  retreat  to  Switzerland,  and  whose 
talents  and  principles  interested  me  in  him.  But,  less  ex- 
pected and  more  weighty  persuasions  were  those  of  M. 
Barthes,  Secretary  of  the  French  Embassy,  who  came  to 
see  me  along  with  Wildrement,  exhorted  me  to  accept  his 
invitation,  and  surprised  me  by  the  deep  and  tender  inte- 
rest he  seemed  to  take  in  me.  I  knew  not  M.  Barthes  in  the 
least ;  I  saw,  however,  in  his  very  speech  the  warmth  and 
zeal  of  friendship,  and  perceived  that  he  really  had  it 
at  heart  to  get  me  to  settle  down  at  Bienne.  He  pro- 
nounced the  most  pompous  eulogy  on  the  town  and  its  in- 
habitants, with  whom  he  seemed  so  closely  connected  as  to 
call  them  several  times  in  my  presence  his  patrons  and 
fathers. 

This  course  of  Barthes  quite  upset  all  my  pervious 
calculations.  I  had  always  suspected  M.  de  Choiseul  to  be 
the  secret  instigator  of  all  the  persecutions  I  had  experien- 
ced in  Switzerland.  The  conduct  of  the  French  Resident 
at  Geneva  as  also  the  proceedings  of  the  Ambassador  at 
Soleure  but  too  strongly  confirmed  this  suspicion  :  I  saw 
France  secretly  exercising  its  influence  on  everything  that 
befel  me  at  Berne,  Geneva,  Neufchatel,  and  I  knew  of  no 
powerful  enemy  I  had  in  France  excepting  the  Duke  de 
Choiseul.     What,  then,  was  I  to  think  of  Barthes'  visit  and 


PERIOD  II.       BOOK.  XII.      it 65.  409 

the  tender  concern  he  seemed  to  feel  in  my  fate  ?  Misfor- 
tune had  not  yet  uprooted  all  my  unborn  trust,  nor  had 
experience  yet  taught  me  to  detect  a  Judas'  kiss  in  every 
caress.  With  wonder  I  tried  to  fathom  what  this  good 
will  of  Bertlies  could  mean  :  I  was  not  fool  enough  to 
believe  that  he  acted  from  his  own  s])ontiineous  impulse  — 
there  was  a  publicity,  an  affecta'ion  even  in  liis  conduct  that 
marked  a  hidden  intent ;  and  1  was  v<-ry  far  from  ever 
having  found  in  the  set  of  petty  sultaltern  agents  that  in- 
trepid generosity  that  had  often  set  my  blood  boiling,  when 
in  a  similar  post.* 

I  had  formerly  had  a  slight  acquaintance  with  Chevalier 
de  Beauteville  at  M.  de  Luxembourg's.  He  had  shown 
me  some  kindness.  Since  his  appointment  to  tlie  embassy, 
he  had  also  given  me  some  tokens  of  remembrance,  and 
even  invited  me  to  go  and  see  him  at  Soleure  ;  an  invita- 
tion which,  though  I  did  not  accept  it,  quite  touched  me, 
not  having  been  accustomed  to  be  treated  so  civily  by  peo- 
ple in  office.  Accordingly,  I  presumed  that  M.  de  Beaute- 
ville, though  forced  to  follow  his  instructions  as  I'egarded 
the  affairs  of  Geneva,  yet  pitied  my  misfortunes  and  had, 
by  his  own  private  care,  prepared  this  asylum  at  Bienne 
for  me,  there  to  live  peacefully  under  his  protection.  I  was 
alive  to  this  attention,  though  without  intending  to  take 
any  advantage  of  it  ;  for,  quite  determined  on  my  journey 
to  Berlin,  I  ardently  longed  for  the  time  to  join  my  Lord 
Marshal,  persuaded  that  no  where  but  by  him  should  I 
henceforth  find  true  rest  and  lasting  happiness. 

On  my  departure  from  the  island,  Kirkebergher  accom- 
panied me  as  far  as  Bienne.  Here  I  found  Wildrement 
and  various  other  Bernese,  who  were  waiting  for  me  at  the 
boat-landing.  We  all  dined  together  at  the  inn  ;  and,  on 
my  arrival  my  first  care  was  to  procure  a  chaise,  resolved 
on  setting  off  the  next  morning.  During  dinner  the.se 
gentlemen  renewed  their  solicitations  to  have  me  stay 
amongst  them,  and  that  with  so  much  warmth  and  such 
tender  protestations  that,  notwithstanding  all  my  resolu- 
tions, my  heart,  never  able  to  withstand  kindness,  was 
melted  by  theirs  :  as  soon  as  they  saw  me  moved,  they  so 

*  His  Secretaryship  at  Venice.     Tr. 

n.  18 


410  BOUSSKAU'S  CONFESSIONS. 

plied  their  pressing  that  I  at  length  gave  in,  and  consented 
to  remain  at  Bienne,  at  least  till  spring. 

Forthwith  Wildremet  set  about  procuring  me  lodgings. 
He  succeeded  in  hunting  up  a  villainous  little  third  story- 
back  room,  overlooking  a  court  yard,  with  a  delicious  pros- 
pect of  stinking  skins  that  belonged  to  a  chamois-leather 
dresser.  This  he  vaunted  as  quite  a  god-send.  My  host 
was  an  ugly  looking  bugger  and  passibly  rascalish  :  the 
day  after  I  entered  his  house,  I  learned  he  was  a  debauchee, 
a  gamester  and  in  very  bad  repute  in  the  neighborhood. 
He  had  neither  wife,  children,  nor  servants  ;  and  sadly  shut 
up  in  my  solitary  chamber  my  accommodations  ( ! )  were 
such  that  I  would  have  ere  long  died  of  melancholy,  though 
in  the  midst  of  one  of  the  most  magnificent  countries  in 
Europe.  What  affected  me  most  was  that  I  saw  no 
civility  in  their  manners  nor  kindness  in  their  looks  as  I 
passed  through  the  streets,  spite  of  all  they  had  told  me 
about  the  eagerness  and  anxiety  of  the  inhabitants  to  have 
me  amongst  them.  I  had,  however,  quite  made  up  my 
mind  to  stay  when  I  learned,  saw  and  felt,  and  that  the 
very  day  after,  that  there  was  a  tremendous  excitement  in 
the  town  about  me.  Several  persons  hastened  obligingly 
to  inform  me  that  I  was  the  day  following  to  receive  orders 
couched  in  the  severest  terms,  to  quit  instanter  the  State — 
that  is,  the  town.  I  had  nobody  in  whom  I  could  confide  : 
my  inviters  had  vanished  to  a  man.  Wildremet  had  dis- 
appeared, Berthes  I  heard  no  more  of,  and  it  did  not  ap- 
pear tliat  his  recommendation  had  given  me  very  great 
favor  in  the  eyes  of  his  '  patrons  and  fathers.'  A.  M.  de 
Van  Travers,  a  Berpese,  who  had  a  handsome  house  near 
the  city,  offered  me  an  asylum  with  him,  however — 'hoping,' 
as  he  phrased  it,  '  that  I  might  there  escape  being  stoned.' 
The  advantage  was  not  inviting  enough  to  tempt  me  to 
prolong  my  stay  among  that  hospitable  people. 

However,  having  lost  three  days  by  this  delay,  I  had 
already  greatly  gone  beyond  the  four-aud-twenty  hours  the 
Bernese  had  given  me  to  get  out  of  their  States,  and, 
knowing  their  hardness,  I  was  not  without  apprehensions 
as  to  the  manner  in  which  they  would  suffer  me  to  go 
through   their   territory,    when   the    '  Bailiff'   of    Nidau 


PERIOD  II.      BOOK  XII.      It65.  411 

opportunely  came  along  and  relieved  me  from  my  embarrass- 
ment. As  be  had  highly  disapuroved  of  the  violent  pro- 
ceedings of  their  Excellencies,  he  thought,  in  his  generosity, 
he  owed  me  public  proof  of  his  taking  no  part  therein, 
and  did  not  fear  quitting  his  'Bailiwick'  to  come  and  pay 
me  a  visit  at  Bienue.  He  came  the  evening  before  my 
departure  ;  and,  so  far  from  niaki?jg  the  visit  incognito, 
he  affected  even  ceremonial  in  the  matter,  coming  in  fiocchi  in 
his  carriage  with  his  socretaiy,  and  bringing  me  a  passport 
in  his  own  name,  permitting  me  to  cross  the  State  of  Berne 
at  my  ease  and  without  fear  of  molestation.  The  visit 
touched  me  more  than  did  the  passport.  IS'or  should  I 
have  been  a  whit  less  sensible  of  the  desert  of  the  act,  had 
the  object  thereof  been  any  other  than  myself  I  know  of 
nothing  so  potent  over  ray  heart  as  a  well-timed  act  of 
courage,  in  favor  of  a  weak  person  unjustly  oppressed. 

At  length,  after  having  with  difficulty  procured  a  chaise, 
I  next  morning  left  the  inhuman  country,  before  the 
arrival  of  the  delegation  with  which  I  was  to  be  honored, 
and  before  even  seeing  Therese,  whom  I  had  written  to  come 
and  join  me  when  I  thought  of  remaining  at  Bieune,  and 
whom  I  had  barely  time  to  countermand  by  a  line,  telling 
her  of  the  new  disaster  that  had  befallen  me.  In  Part  Third 
of  my  Confessions  (if  ever  I  have  the  strength  to  write  it*) 
the  reader  will  see  in  what  manner,  thinking  to  set  off  for 
Berlin,  I  really  left  for  England,  and  how  the  two  ladies 
whose  aim  it  was  to  have  me  wholly  under  their  control, 
after  having  by  their  plots  driven  me  from  Switzerland, 
where  I  was  not  sufficiently  in  their  power,  succeeded  in 
deliverhig  me  over  into  the  hands  of  their  friend. f 

What  follows  I  added  on  reading  the  present  work  to 
the  Countess  d'Egmont,  Prince  Pignatelli,  the  Marchioness 
of  Mesmes  and  the  Marquis  de  Juigne: 

I  have  told  the  whole  truth :  if  any  one  has  heard  aught 
contrary  to  what  I  have  just  stated,  were  they  a  thousand 
times  proven,  he  has  heard  lies  and  impostures;  and  if  he 

*  He  never  wrote  the  Third  Part ;  lut  his  "  Reveries  of  The  Soli- 
tary Walker"  almost  supply  the  omission;  and,  says  he,  "should  be  looked 
on  as  an  Appendix  to  The  Confessions."     It  will  shortly  be  published. 

t   Hume.     Tr. 


412  ROtTSShAC's  C0VFESSI0N3. 

refuse  to  aid  me  in  sifting  and  exposing  them  whilst  I  am 
alive,  he  is  no  friend  to  either  Truth  or  Justice.  For  my 
own  part,  I  openly  and  fearlessly  declare,  that  whosoever 
can,  even  though  he  have  not  read  my  writings,  but  simply 
from  the  examination  for  himself  of  my  disposition,  charac- 
ter, manners,  likings,  pleasures  and  habits,  pronounced  me 
aught  other  than  an  honest  man,  is  himself  fit  for  the 
gibbet. 

So  ended  I  the  reading,  and  the  whole  company  were 
silent.  Madam  d'Egmont  was  the  only  person  that  seemed 
to  me  moved:  She  visibly  stared,  but  soon  she  resumed  her 
composure  and  remamed  silent  like  the  rest.  Such  was  the 
fruit  of  my  reading  and  my  declaration. 


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